


you to believe in

by happilyy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Jack And Bitty Never Met At Samwell, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Wrong Number AU (kinda?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9017047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happilyy/pseuds/happilyy
Summary: Bitty is still talking fifteen minutes later when the gasps on the other end of the line have come to a stop, the stranger’s breathing seemingly back to normal. Bitty trails off, his thoughts about maple syrup in cookie batter coming to an abrupt end. There’s a few moments of silence before the stranger on the other end of the line speaks.“Thanks.”The man’s tone is deep, but seems less shaky than when Bitty first picked up the phone.Bitty can do nothing but whisper into the receiver, the moment too fragile for anything louder. “Of course.”There’s another few long moments of silence before Bitty hears the dial tone in his ear.





	1. Eric

**Author's Note:**

  * For [welcometonerdworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometonerdworld/gifts).



> Well this certainly took waaaaay longer than I expected! Happy holidays, welcometonerdworld! You mentioned loving AUs so I took that and ran with it, and ran with it, and ran with it..... I hope this was AUish enough for you :)
> 
> A few thanks are in order: Thank you times a million to my beta, Amanda! You are amazing, so thank you so much for taking the time to read and talk through ideas about this monster with me :) Also, many thanks to my pals in the Check Please Net: Jin, Helen, Clara, Kat, Rosie, Avery, Emily, and everyone else! Thank you for listening to my rambling about this story and a very very special shoutout to Rosie for being my personal cheerleader, I love you dear! And of course a big thank you to the mods for setting up this exchange!
> 
> Some notes before we begin:
> 
> This story takes place during the 2017-2018 hockey season. Jack went to Samwell for two years before being drafted by the Bruins (he didn't finish his degree, and thus didn't meet Bitty) Bitty still played hockey and was still friends with everyone on the SMH and now owns a bakery in Providence!
> 
> That will be about it! I am not 100% happy with this, and started hating it towards the end, but I think it's reasonably okay! Enjoy!
> 
> trigger warnings: descriptions of panic attacks and description/discussion of jack's anxiety disorder (his anxiety is a main part of this fic so if that's not your cup of tea, this may not be the fic to read. sorry!)
> 
> also psa: jack's chapters are very long and rambling. he had a lot he wanted to say i guess

**PART 1: ERIC**

**~**

**Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Bitty’s Apartment_ **  

Bitty wakes up every morning, goes to work, comes home to an empty apartment, and thinks: _I have a good life._  

And it’s true. 

He’s been graduated from college for a little over a year and already has an extremely successful bakery up and running. He loves his employees. His best friends all live considerably close by, allowing him to see them on a regular basis. Bitty has nothing to dislike about his life, really. 

Except the fact that he’s lonely. 

Working long hours and then coming home to an empty and cold house has become exhausting. He always seems to cook too much food for one, leaving tupperware full of leftovers for lunch the next day. Though his mattress isn’t large, it still seems too empty and stiff. His small apartment can get impossibly vast and cold. 

Bitty has always been an independent person. Landing the bakery as soon as he graduated proved that. But, it would be nice to come home to someone who he could share his thoughts and the stories from his day with. 

It doesn’t help that it seems as if his friends are always trying to set him up with someone new every week. 

“Bits, come on!” Shitty yells, kicking his feet up to rest on the table in front of him. Him and Lardo are visiting for the weekend from Cambridge, Shitty more than glad to get away from what he had dubbed ‘those corporate asshats.’ 

“No, Shits, seriously, I’ve given you the same answer time and time again: no.” 

Shitty groans from his perch, sliding his hands through his shorter hair and then down his face. Shitty had first chopped his hair off before starting law school, though he still continued to lament about how much he missed his flow. 

“Give it a rest, bro,” Lardo says, grabbing a beer from the fridge and hopping over the back of Bitty’s couch, coming to rest under Shitty’s arm. The ease with which they fit together still leaves Bitty breathless occasionally. 

Shitty grabs the bottle and downs a sip before turning back to Bitty. “God knows you’re an independent adult, Bits. I just hate seeing you work this hard without ever having fun.” 

It’s a conversation that Shitty has been trying to have with him since Bitty broke up with his last boyfriend. Frankly, Bitty is tired of it. 

Bitty scoffs and continues laying out pie dough from where he’s standing in his small kitchen. “Who said I don’t have fun?” He starts kneading the dough with maybe a little extra force than is necessary. At least he’s the only one that can notice. “I went out for drinks with Nursey and Dex just last week!” 

Lardo looks unimpressed from her spot on the couch. “And let me guess, they bickered the entire time like the married couple they _actually_ are before ending up in a corner making out.”

Bitty sighs. “I hate it when you do that.” Lardo shrugs in apology before turning back towards the Bruins game on the television. They’re playing the Falconers that night, and Shitty had displayed an unusual amount of enthusiasm about watching the Rhode Island team. 

“Aw, what the fuck! That was an obvious penalty!” Shitty yells as he springs up from the couch. “Fuckin filthy." 

Bitty can see an opening to change the subject presenting itself on a golden platter. “So, Shitty…. since when are you a fan of the Falconers?”

For once, Shitty isn't completely forthcoming with his answer. “A bro can appreciate a good team.” The reply is as close to an evasion as Bitty has ever heard from him, and he’s immediately suspicious.

“And you chose the Falconers because….?”

Shitty hesitates for a split second before shrugging, the nonchalant expression slipping back onto his face with ease. If Shitty hadn’t been Bitty’s best friend, he’s sure he would have missed it. “They’re your local team, Bits. I’m surprised you don’t follow them.”

The statement comes as a surprise to him. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he had sat down and watched a hockey game. What with running the bakery for its first year and subsequently becoming a semi-famous business in the area, he hadn’t had much time to keep up with the sport he used to play.

“I guess I’ve been too busy with the bakery. I didn’t realize it had been so long since I had been to a game,” Bitty sighs as he presses the pie crust into the pan.

Lardo scoffs before slipping from under Shitty’s arm and coming to stand next to Bitty at his cramped counter top. “Bits, you overwork yourself and you know it,” her voice has taken on the tone she used to use with the team when they had gotten particularly rowdy. “We hate seeing you like this,” this time her tone is softer, and she hip checks Bitty lightly with a small smile.

Sometimes, Bitty doesn’t know what he would do without Lardo or Shitty. He thanks whatever higher being may exist everyday for the blessing that the two have been. He remembers when he was just a small and scared freshman, coming straight from Georgia, paranoid and terrified that he wouldn’t be accepted by anyone on his new team. Of course, the rest of the boys had been fantastic, but Bitty can never quite repay Lardo or Shitty for being the two constants in his life since the day he shakily came out to Shitty on that bench.

Bitty smiles back and slips his arm through hers. “Thanks, guys. I know you both mean well, but don’t worry about little ol’ me! I’ll be fine.” And Bitty knows the words are true. His life is nearly perfect, and he has all the time in the world to find someone to spend it with. Someone worth sharing everything with. That’s the important thing.

“That’s the fuckin spirit, Bits!” Shitty cheers as he walks into the kitchen, flinging his arms around both Bitty and Lardo. The three of them hug for a minute before Shitty breaks the silence with a belch. “Now where’s the pie I was promised?”

Bitty shoves Shitty out of the way playfully before shooing the two out of the kitchen. “Now, if ya’ll wouldn’t have distracted me!”

By the time that Bitty is pushing the pie tin into the oven, the Falconers game has gone into overtime, and Shitty is getting exceptionally loud.

The cheer that erupts from the couch a few moments later has Bitty jumping in surprise.

“Zimmermann, what a fuckin _beaut_!”

Bitty hasn’t seen Shitty this excited about hockey since he watched the team win the Frozen Four at the end of Bitty’s senior year.  He’s on his knees in front of the television, clutching the screen in both hands. He paints the picture of a man thanking god.

“Zimmermann?” Bitty asks as he wipes his hands on a dish towel while he leans against the door jam.

Shitty’s face morphs into an expression of wonderment as he turns to gaze at Bitty. “Bitty, Bits, Itty Bitty…. Jack Zimmermann is absolutely unreal and I cannot believe you have not seen him play yet.” He stops for a moment before his face lights up. “You’re coming up to Cambridge next weekend and I am dragging your ass to Boston for the Bruins game against Providence.”

Bitty’s first instinct is to refuse, make excuses that he has too much work to do and too many bakery orders to fill. That he couldn’t possibly leave the store in someone else's hands for a few days. 

But then he begins to realize that he _can_. Nursey and Dex are perfectly capable of covering him for the next few days. They know their way inside and out of the bakery, being there almost as often as Bitty himself. 

And it really had been far too long since Bitty had been to a hockey game, had sat down to actually watch and enjoy one. He finds his chest aching with a vague feeling of longing, the memories from his college playing career surfacing. 

He misses it. Bitty misses hockey horribly and it took him this long to realize it. 

“Okay,” he agrees simply. 

The response must come as a shock, because Lardo whips her head around, her eyebrows raised up to her hairline. “Okay?” she repeats, the skepticism clear in her voice. 

Bitty rolls his eyes before joining them on the couch. “Yes, okay, I admit I need a weekend away.” Shitty gasps overdramatically from the end of the sofa, and Bitty sends a glare his way to keep him quiet. “And I kinda miss hockey.” 

Shitty’s smile is so bright that Bitty didn’t realize he was capable of being that happy. “Bro, you are in for a treat.” 

Bitty supposes he is, and he can’t find it in himself to feel all that hesitant about it. 

- 

Long after the game has been shut off and the beers have been cleared off the living room table, Bitty sits up in his bed on his laptop as Shitty and Lardo sleep in the guest room. 

Shitty had tried to negotiate that they all could fit in Bitty’s bed together, always up for some naked cuddling. But Bitty had politely declined, stating that he had received enough naked cuddles during his two years with Shitty living across the hall in the Haus. 

So, Bitty’s messing around on twitter until the hockey game drifts into his head again. 

Something about the name Zimmermann had stuck in Bitty’s mind for the rest of the night, nagging at him to figure out what was so familiar about it. He _knows_ he’s heard the name before, he just can't remember exactly where. 

His google search does not disappoint, and Bitty finds the article within a few seconds of scrolling. 

The title reads “ _Zimmermann’s Second Year in Providence Off to a Strong Start_ ” and Bitty’s mind has already put a majority of the clues together before even reading it. 

He can vaguely remember some of the conversations that had floated back to the kitchen from the front of the shop during the first few months of running the bakery. Excited whisperings about the new hockey player that had been traded from the Bruins, and hopeful exclamations that maybe it was Providence’s year for the cup. 

Bitty hadn’t paid them much mind, too busy coming up with new recipes that would inevitably charm the entire population of Providence. 

Now, though, he remembers them clearly. 

The article goes on to praise Zimmermann’s impeccable first few games and stellar pre-season record. The longer Bitty reads, the more he finds out about the NHL star. He cut his NCAA career short to be drafted by the Bruins before the 2014-2015 season, and then was promptly traded to the Falconers after missing the playoffs before Bitty’s graduation. The general consensus of the article seems to be that while Zimmermann is an amazing hockey player and has played almost impeccably his first three seasons, he still hasn’t reached his full potential, and there has been no cup in sight. 

He’s also unfairly attractive. 

Zimmermann is the kind of handsome that is only seen in the old timey movies. His jaw and cheekbones are all sharp lines, his pale skin matching the piercing blue of his droopy eyes. Bitty can't help but laugh at the boy band haircut the man has, though it undoubtedly suits him. He doesn’t think anyone else would be able to pull it off. 

For a moment, Bitty is overwhelmed with how attractive he is. He’s definitely in for a treat next weekend, and it won’t only have to do with excellent hockey. 

-

 **Boston, Massachusetts;** **_TD Garden_ **

Bitty has not felt this excited since a moderately famous online blogger reviewed his bakery almost a year ago. 

TD Garden is overflowing with hockey fans, a steady stream of people walking into the arena. There’s a low hum of excitement thrumming through the throng of fans, and Bitty can feel it affecting him as he bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“Excited, Bits?” Lardo asks, a small smirk on her face. 

He can’t help but smile back. He’s excited to finally be back at a hockey game, to experience that type of atmosphere and adrenaline once again. 

He’s also extremely excited to watch Zimmermann play. 

Since the previous weekend, Bitty has been watching highlight videos of the man online whenever he has free moments. To say the least, Zimmermann is absolutely incredible. The way he effortlessly slides the puck into the net. His flawless skating, and, lord, his _hands_. 

Bitty may have blushed more than once whenever he watched the videos. 

When the group finally reaches their seats, Bitty’s jaw drops. 

The seats are on the glass, extremely close to center ice. 

“Shitty!” he squeaks out as Lardo and Shitty shuffle onto the bench. It takes a moment before Bitty can comprehend what’s happening before he takes a seat in between the two. “How did you get these seats?” Bitty doesn’t even want to _think_ about how much money people would pay to be sitting where they are. 

Shitty’s mustaches twitches as he smirks, throwing an arm around Bitty’s shoulder. 

“Ah, Bits, a man has his ways, but never tells his secrets,” he answers. Bitty has a feeling that he just made the response up, but he doesn’t have time to question it before the teams are beginning to warm up. 

Every time Zimmermann skates past their seats, Shitty stands up and bangs on the glass, howling his praise. If Bitty didn’t know any better, he would say that Zimmermann was skating past on purpose, a smirk adorning his chiseled face. Lardo even waves a few times. 

Before Bitty can question their actions, the puck has been dropped and the game is underway. 

It's a hard and fast match, the Bruins seemingly still bitter about their close loss the previous weekend in Providence. Both goalies are blocking shots left and right, and the checking seems rougher than usual. 

To this day, Bitty is still wary of being checked. Freshman year was a disaster, and Bitty remembers the crippling fear that struck him anytime someone on his team or the opposing team would get close to hurting him. So, he became an even faster skater, able to slip out of tight spots and zoom past his opponents attempts to check him into the boards. Ransom and Holster helped him overcome most of the fear by holding checking practices for him, but he never completely got over it. 

By the end of the second period, Providence is up by two points, and Bitty can practically feel the energy running through the arena. He can spot almost as many Falconers jerseys as Bruins, the close proximity of the two teams making it easy for the away team’s fans to show up in droves. 

Shitty is rambling on excitedly about the two goals that Zimmermann had made. He keeps throwing in crude comments about his footwork and how nice his hands are, and Bitty can’t help but flush. All of the videos he had binged on had definitely left an impact. 

The third period is hard and dirty, both teams determined to win. It comes down to the last minute, the score tied at 2-2 

In the end, it’s Zimmermann who finishes the game. Just before the buzzer sounds to send them into overtime, he scores his third goal of the night, sending the puck flying into the top shelf of the net. 

The crowd goes absolutely _nuts_ , both equal parts excited and frustrated. Shitty shoots out of his seat, banging on the glass and screaming all the while. Bitty can’t help but scream along. There are hats flying from every corner of the arena to land on the ice, and from what Bitty can see, the Falconers have all gathered Zimmermann into a group hug. 

“A fucking hat trick, that son of a bitch!” Shitty howls, looping his arm around Bitty’s shoulder and screaming in his ear as Lardo begins cheering along. Bitty finds Shitty’s love for the Falconer to be amusing, but he can't say he doesn’t share his enthusiasm in that moment. 

“He was amazing,” Bitty gushes, gazing out towards the ice as the arena begins to empty around them, the crowd still abuzz with energy. “All of his shots were amazing, but, lord, that last goal!” 

Shitty’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Tell me about it, Bits. Fuckin tell me about it.” 

“Shits, you might have just made me a new Falconers fan.” 

Lardo and Shitty cheer and revel in the happiness of a good hockey game as they trail out of the arena. Bitty doesn’t mention that he’s probably solely a Zimmermann fan, to be more specific.

- 

Later that night, Bitty is laying on the couch in Shitty and Lardo’s apartment, scrolling through his various social medias before nodding off to sleep. They had come back after the game, drunk off the excitement and adrenalin that only a good hockey match can provide. Shitty had suggested they watch one of the trashy romcoms on Netflix, and then had proceeded to spend the entire movie picking apart the heteronormative themes and concepts.

Lardo had eventually dragged Shitty to their bedroom, and left Bitty to sleep on the couch. 

Bitty sets his phone down and is about to drift off for the night when he feels the cushions vibrating below him. It takes him a few minutes to find the source of the vibrating before it stops. 

A few seconds pass before it starts up again. Eventually, Bitty reaches between the cushions to pull out Shitty’s cell phone, which must have fallen during their movie watching. 

The screen is flashing the name “ _Jack”_ back up at Bitty before going dark. A second later, the vibrating starts again, making it the third call within five minutes. 

Bitty briefly debates on whether he should wake Shitty up and inform him about the incessant ringing of his cell phone. But, the person calling obviously needs something urgently, so Bitty decides to waste less time by answering himself. 

“Hello?” he says hesitantly. He’s greeted with the sounds of harsh wheezing on the other line, the other person frantically trying to pull in air. 

Bitty grows frightened and shoots up from his spot on the couch, his hand not clutching the phone immediately running through his hair in distress. “Hello? Are you alright?” 

The other person wheezes again on the other line before attempting to speak. “Shitty?” The word is incredibly shaky and small, and it sounds as if the man can barely breathe.

Bitty doesn’t respond right away, which makes the man on the other end of the line try to speak again. “Shitty, I can’t…. breathe.” 

It takes Bitty a few moments to realize exactly what is happening. Whoever is on the other line is more than likely having a panic attack, and they had called Shitty to help them through it. 

Bitty has had a few experiences with panic attacks. Though he had never gone through one himself, there was a young boy at the camp he used to be a counselor for every summer in Georgia who regularly had attacks. The boy had latched onto Bitty early on, so he was the one who continuously helped the kid through them. 

Without even thinking of waking up Shitty, Bitty sits down on the couch and focuses in on the stranger’s voice, all of his memories from the little scared boy at summer camp rushing to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t know this stranger, doesn’t know how their attacks work or what calms them down. But, he’s going to try his damned hardest to help them anyway. 

“Okay, I need you to try and breathe okay? Just take deep breathes, in and out,” Bitty instructs, his voice soft but firm. He can hear the stranger’s heavy panting and wheezing speed up for a moment before he takes one long shuddery breath. 

“Good. Keep going, in and out, in and out…” Bitty trails off as the man on the other end of the line shakily continues to gulp in small gasps of air. Bitty continues instructing him to breathe and eventually starts talking about the latest muffin recipe he had been experimenting with. The little boy at camp always liked it when Bitty talked about nonsense as he took his breathes just so the silence wasn’t absolutely overwhelming. Bitty can relate to silence being suffocating.

Bitty is still talking fifteen minutes later when the gasps on the other end of the line have come to a stop, the stranger’s breathing seemingly back to normal. Bitty trails off, his thoughts about maple syrup in cookie batter coming to an abrupt end. There’s a few moments of silence before the stranger on the other end of the line speaks. 

“Thanks.” 

The man’s tone is deep, but seems less shaky than when Bitty first picked up the phone. 

Bitty can do nothing but whisper into the phone, the moment too fragile for anything louder. “Of course.” 

There’s another few long moments of silence before Bitty hears the dial tone in his ear. 

It takes a few seconds of shocked silence before Bitty yanks the phone back from his ear and goes to Shitty’s call list. At the top of his list is the name Jack, the same name that had been staring up at him before he had answered the phone. 

He clicks the contact, the person’s phone number and a contact picture of a goose staring back him. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he copies the number down into his own phone, and then shoves Shitty’s phone back between the cushions like he never found it. 

Bitty drifts back to sleep with a million questions and shaky, panicked breaths filling his thoughts. 

-

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_“Bitty’s”_ **  

It’s been almost a week since the night that Bitty helped Shitty’s friend through a panic attack on the phone and he cannot stop thinking about it. 

Something had held Bitty back from telling Shitty about the incident. Bitty is sure that the stranger, otherwise known as Jack, would probably complain to the Harvard student about someone else picking up his phone, but for the time being, Bitty hadn't heard a peep from Shitty. 

The incident seemed too personal, too invasive to just blurt out to Shitty. Bitty is sure that Shitty has experienced Jack’s panic attacks before, seeing as the other man called Shitty for help. But Bitty still couldn’t bring himself to talk about the few minutes he spent coaching the stranger to breathe. 

Bitty still hasn't done anything with Jack’s number. 

He’s spent countless minutes sitting and staring at the number that had been programmed into his phone, an invisible force stopping him from sending a simple text. 

What is he going to even say? _Hi, I helped you through your panic attack last week. How are things?_  

That seems far too creepy and nosey. Bitty knows he would be skeptical about somebody he spent only a few moments speaking with trying to talk to him again a few days later, but he just can’t seem to get the incident out of his head. 

And it’s showing through his baking. 

Just this week alone, Bitty has ended up with three less than perfect batches of muffins and cookies, things he would usually be able to do in his sleep. Nursey and Dex are even beginning to notice. 

“Bro, what is up with you?” Nursey bluntly asks as Bitty pulls out the third batch of apple muffins that had gotten slightly too crispy. 

“Derek, if I had an answer for you do you think I would be standing here with a ruined batch of muffins?” Bitty asks, the thinning of his patience apparent in his tone. The hands he has perched on his hips may also be an indication of his current mood. 

Nursey looks sheepish as he reaches around Bitty to grab the pan and store the muffins in the bag they take to the homeless shelter with all the extras from the day. “Sorry, Bits. I just noticed you’ve been acting kind of...strange this week.” 

Bitty sighs as he begins on a completely new batch. “You and me both, honey.” 

Nursey is silent from his corner of the kitchen. The front of the shop is usually deserted at that time of day, providing a lull between lunch and the evening crowd. Nursey or Dex would usually hang around the back kitchen and help with whatever Bitty was baking that day, depending who was working that shift. 

Nursey and Dex had, surprisingly, moved out to Providence after graduating, Dex immediately getting a paid IT internship that would hopefully materialize into something permanent at the end of the year long program. Unsurprisingly, once they had settled in an apartment, they had broken the news of their marriage, stating that they hadn’t wanted to wait any longer and had simply eloped right after graduation. 

Bitty thought that marriage suited them. While they still did incessantly bicker, their fighting had softened over the years, and had turned into good natured ribbing, one of them always looking at the other through thinly veiled gazes brimming with fondness. 

And if Bitty ached for what they had with each other? Nobody had to know but him. 

Both Nursey and Dex had originally only helped a few times when the bakery had a busy weekend or two, but the longer they hung around, assisting in running Bitty’s small but popular business, he had decided to hire them. Dex had stated that the extra money wouldn’t hurt, and Nursey needed something else to focus his time on as he wrote his poetry book. 

After all these years, they were still his frogs, some of his absolute best friends, and he was infinitely grateful for them everyday of his life. 

It didn't mean he was comfortable with Nursey inching dangerously towards the truth about what was bothering Bitty. 

“How’s Dex?” he questions, unsubtly trying to change the subject. It was quiet in the kitchen, except for the sound of Bitty’s whisk hitting the large metal bowl he was using. 

Nursey shoots a skeptical look at Bitty before walking over to the shelf, anticipating the next few ingredients that Bitty would need and handing them over. Bitty is grateful for the acceptance of the subject change as Nursey prattles on about a project that Dex was currently stressing over. 

For the rest of his day at the bakery, Bitty’s phone seems to burn a hole in his pocket. He knows it's there, and he knows that Jack’s number is programmed into his contacts. All he has to do is send a text. 

Towards the end of the night, when Nursey is looking up the front of the shop and Bitty is alone in the back kitchen, he finally pulls his phone out for the first time since that morning. He hesitates for a moment, his common sense battling with the urge to send the message. It’s been a week, surely it wouldn’t be that weird? 

Before he can convince himself otherwise, Bitty pulls up Jack’s contact and types out a quick message, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses the send button. 

 **me  
**_Hi! I answered Shitty’s phone when you called a week ago? I guess I’m just texting to see if you're alright._  

With the text sent, Bitty feels like a huge weight has been lifted. There, he sent the message, and now it’s up to Jack whether or not he wants to respond. 

Though Bitty hopes he’ll respond. He didn’t spend that long agonizing over one small text message only to receive radio silence and the vague feeling that he was stepping way too far out of line. 

All he can do is wait. 

- 

Jack still hasn’t texted back. 

Bitty is almost ashamed to admit that he’s spend the rest of his night doing nothing but checking his cell phone every five minutes. 

The relief that came with finally sending the text had only lasted for half an hour before the paranoia began to set in, his phone still frustratingly silent. Who did Bitty think he was, sending a text out of the blue to a stranger he had helped through a panic attack at three o’clock in the damn morning? 

The longer it takes for Jack to respond, the more Bitty begins to believe that he isn’t going to be receiving a response at all. For some reason, the prospect of never hearing from the man again leaves Bitty feeling sad. 

Just as he’s about to drift to sleep, thoughts of an early morning in the bakery looming over his head, his phone pings with an incoming message. 

The sound snaps Bitty into action, any vestiges of sleep flying from his system. He’s immediately awake and reaching for his phone, his eyes squinting against the harsh brightness of the screen in the dark of his room. 

Bitty squeaks when he sees the message is from Jack.

 **Jack  
**_Who is this?_  

Bitty takes a deep breathe, his shaky hands quickly typing out a response to the question. 

**me  
** _I helped with your panic attack last week.  
_ _I mean, my name is Eric._

Bitty doesn’t tell him about his hockey nickname, something telling him that it’s too early to be exchanging casual nicknames with Shitty’s friend.

 **Jack  
**_Oh_  

Bitty waits a few moments, thinking that there is going to be another message coming in right after the first, but a few minutes pass with nothing. It seems like Jack has nothing else to say until the new message comes in. 

 **Jack  
**_My name is Jack_  

 **me  
** _I know_  
_I mean, it said so on Shitty’s phone_  
_I’m sorry if this is weird  
__I just couldn’t stop wondering if you were okay._  

Bitty’s message is achingly true, and the response comes faster this time. 

 **Jack  
**_It’s okay, I guess. And I’m alright. I get panic attacks a lot, it’s nothing new._  

**me  
** _That must suck_

**Jack  
**_I deal with it._  

 **me  
**_Still_  

 **Jack  
**_Yeah_  

The conversation, brief as it is, seems to be coming to an end. Bitty shakes his head and goes to send a message thanking Jack for letting him help him one last time before his phone pings again. 

**Jack  
** _You know Shitty?_

Bitty sucks in a breathe, surprised at Jack continuing the conversation.

 **me  
**_Yeah, friend from college, we played hockey together. I was spending the night after going to a Bruins game_  

Bitty doesn’t know why he’s telling Jack any of this, just that he seems like someone that needs a friend to talk to. 

The next text message takes ten minutes to come in, Bitty sure that Jack has just stopped responding or fallen asleep. 

 **Jack  
**_Hockey?_  

 **me  
** _Yep! Samwell Men’s Hockey.  
__We won the Frozen Four my senior year._  

 **Jack  
**_Nice_  

**me  
** _You like hockey?_

**Jack  
**_I guess you could say that._  

Bitty furrows his eyebrows at the message. What could Jack possibly mean by that? He’s about to send a message asking what the other man means when his phone pings with an incoming message. 

**Jack**

_I have to go. Thank you for helping me last week._  

 **me  
**_Of course!_  

Bitty spends a few moments staring at his phone, even more confusion and curiosity floating around his head. 

What did Jack mean with his response about hockey? Did he hate it? It sounded as if he had some opinions about the sport, not all of them that positive. The whole conversation was stilted, the uncomfortable edge of only having talked once rubbing off on them, even through text.

Bitty still doesn’t have a clue who Jack is, much less who Jack is to Shitty. Though, something about the way he had sounded on the phone a week before, all shaky and scared, makes Bitty want to help him. Nobody deserves to feel like that.

That night, Bitty goes to sleep with more questions than he had before Jack had answered his text.


	2. Jack

**PART II: JACK**

**~**

**Los Angeles, California;** **_STAPLES Center_ **

“Zimmboni! We be going to the ice now.” 

Jack sighs as he hears Tater’s voice come from close by. Their game against the Kings is supposed to start in a few minutes, but Jack doesn’t feel prepared at all. 

Jack never feels prepared for a game anymore. He had been fine in Boston, had been thriving even, by his own standards. Though the media didn’t seem to think so.

The trade to Providence had changed those feelings. It’s not that he wasn’t a good player. Jack knew he was good, All Star level even. You don’t work your whole life for something and not be exceptionally amazing at it. He just hadn’t reached his full potential, and he was going on his fourth year in the NHL. 

Though, this season, as early as it was, was turning out to be different. 

He’s clicking more with his teammates than he did last season. Jack could even say he’s playing better with them than he ever played with his Boston teammates. The problem isn’t Jack’s skating, and especially isn’t his handling of the puck. 

It’s the weight of all the heady expectations that everybody in Providence and the hockey world have for him. They keep saying this is his year, the year he finally reaches his full potential. The year he finally gets a cup. 

And they’re right. Jack is playing better than he ever has. He’s recording points left and right, and the Falconers are on a nice winning streak at the moment. 

But Jack never feels prepared for a game anymore. 

The expectations that everybody has for him are heavy, and definitely taking a toll on the way he handles things lately. He’s more anxious than usual, flashbacks from the year of the draft hitting a little too close to home. His hands shake more than ever before, and it’s becoming harder to walk into the rink without feeling like he’s going to shake apart at the seams. 

Everyone is depending on him, his team is depending on him to reach the playoffs, and he’s barely handling it. 

Of course, the Falconers have taken measures to make sure he gets the mental health care he needs, and for that he is forever grateful. He just doesn’t like feeling like he’s going to puke or like he can barely breathe before and after every one of his games. 

His panic attacks are becoming too frequent. Not that they ever completely stopped, and Jack had learned that it was just who he was, something he would have to learn to deal with for the rest of the life. He had accepted that. 

He hadn’t expected for them to become more frequent in the beginning of the season, and having to call Shitty once every few weeks, begging him to help him breathe. 

The worst one had happened after the Boston game. 

They had won, and it had been a fast but amazing game. Jack had been getting praise from all sides of the hockey world for his first hat trick of the season, something he should have been ecstatic about. 

He wasn’t.

The hat trick had only made him more anxious, after all the fanfare had died down and he had been sitting in his apartment late that night. All the thoughts of how high the expectations for him were now. How disappointed all the fans and his teammates would be if he didn’t continue to put up points in every single game. It had all cultivated into one of the worst panic attacks he had endured as of late, and he had found himself calling Shitty as a last resort.

 

He had not been expecting an absolute stranger to pick up the phone. 

Through immeasurable kindness, the man had coached him how to breathe, exactly as Shitty may have done, but maybe even better and more efficiently. 

There was something about the man’s voice that had seemed to instill a sense of calm in him. It was soft, but firm. The firmness wasn’t too commanding, so he wasn’t demanding that Jack continue to breath. Just gently encouraging, a tone of voice that made Jack want to listen to him, want to continue breathing and stop the panic as soon as possible. 

Nobody had ever been that good at talking him down from an attack.

Even more surprising, the stranger had texted him a week later. Jack didn’t think he’d ever hear from him again, that it was a freak accident of the stranger picking up Shitty’s phone once. That the voice was a once in a lifetime occurrence. 

Oddly enough, Jack was relieved when he had received that text, though considerably confused. Why was this stranger wasting their time on someone they had helped through a panic attack for a handful of minutes? Why did they even care? 

Eric was his name. Jack had tried to remember if Shitty had ever talked about being friends with an Eric, but nothing was coming to the forefront of his mind. Surely, if this Eric was spending the night at Shitty and Lardo’s apartment, they had to be close friends? 

Nonetheless, Jack still isn't prepared for the game that is about to take place in a matter of moments, and finds himself reaching for his phone, pulling up the conversation with Eric that he couldn't bring himself to delete.

He types out the message with shaky fingers, one of his gloves behind held between his teeth as his teammates stream out the locker room door behind him.

**me  
** _It’s happening again._

The text message comes in frighteningly fast. Jack wonders if Eric had already been holding his phone in his palm.

**Eric  
** _Take deep breathes, okay?  
_ _Just focus on that for a few seconds._

**me  
**_Why are you helping me?_  

Jack doesn’t know why he sends the message. Questioning the guy who could help him through his panicking thoughts doesn’t seem to be the most productive thing to do at the moment. 

Eric responds without any hesitation. 

 **Eric  
**_Why wouldn’t I help?_  

**me  
** _You don’t know me_

**Eric  
** _Doesn’t matter._  
_A friend of Shitty’s is a friend of mine.  
__Besides, you’re pretty nice from what I’ve seen._  

The last message startles a laugh out of Jack, and he realizes that his hands have stopped shaking and his throat is looser. 

“Zimmermann!” 

The yell comes from the doorway of the locker room, and he looks up to find Marty staring at him in confusion. “Come on kid, time to go.” 

Jack types out one fast message before tossing his phone back into his stall, sending a quick glance at the darkened screen before starting towards the rink where the rest of his team is waiting for him.

- 

By some amazing stroke of luck, or maybe just because of some really good hockey playing, they beat the Kings 3-0 in a total shutout. 

The team is absolutely ecstatic, screaming excited profanities and praises towards Snowy and Jack, who had gotten two goals and an assist in the first period. 

Jack’s chest hasn’t felt as light as it does since before the trade to Providence. Something about the way his team is celebrating calms him and reassures him that for the moment, he’s doing okay, he’s good. 

When he sits down in his stall to tug his skates off, he sees his phone light up with a notification telling him that Eric had texted him a few times during the game. 

 **Eric  
** _Oh. Okay, I hope you’re okay._  
_I hope I’m not overstepping by continuing to text you.  
__I want to help._  

The first message was sent right as the game had begun, the last being sent sometime during the second and third periods.

Jack’s heart unexpectedly warms at the words, still finding it impossible that Eric wants to help him so badly. He’s also confused at why it’s so easy to overshare with Eric, seeing as Jack has never been a particularly open person. Not since Kent and before the draft, at least. 

It could be the degree of anonymity between the two of them. Jack suspects that it’s something to do with Eric himself, though he doesn’t want to put too much thought into it. He doesn’t even know anything about the other man, besides the fact that he’s willing to help a stranger through a panic attack and that he’s friends with Shitty. 

 **me  
** _Sorry, I had to go to work.  
__And it’s fine. I’m the one who texted you, I should be apologizing._  

 **Eric  
**_Work? Goodness, it’s awfully late for work, isn’t it?_  

Jack realizes belatedly that Eric must live in the same timezone as Providence, and the hockey game on the west coast hadn’t finished until late on the east coast. 

 **me  
** _I’m in California, I travel a lot for work.  
__I also have weird hours._  

There’s no way that Jack could tell Eric who he was. Jack didn’t know what Eric would do with the information, despite being friends with Shitty, who he is sure has talked about copious amounts of hockey with. 

Shitty tends to do that. He talks about hockey with anybody that is willing to listen, though Jack knows that he doesn't tend to mention that he’s best friends with Jack Zimmermann. He once said that it felt too much like exploiting him, and Jack knows he gave a lecture to Ransom and Holster once he left for Boston. 

 **Eric  
** _I guess you could say I have weird hours too.  
__Though, I’m only up at 4 am every morning to open the bakery and not travel all around the country._  

**me  
** _A bakery?_

**Eric  
** _Yep! My very own, I’ve had it for a year now.  
__It’s my pride and joy._  

 **me  
**_Nice_  

 **Eric  
**_It is pretty nice, at least, everyone in Providence seems to think so._  

Jack’s heart begins to race a mile a minute at the mention of his city. That had to mean that Eric lived in Providence, right? 

 **me  
**_You like to bake?_  

Jack cringes as he sends the message. What a stupid question, of course Eric likes to bake. From his messages, it seems as if he owns his own bakery. 

**Eric  
** _What a silly question! All I seem to do these days is bake._  
_Though Shitty dragged me to a hockey game last week.  
_ _Reminded me how much I miss playing._

 If it’s at all possible, Jack’s heart starts racing even faster at the three text messages from Eric.

Shitty had told Jack that he was going to be at his game against Boston at TD Garden. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to meet up with him afterwards, stating that he had to take his friend back to his and Lardo’s apartment. 

Eric had been the friend. The friend that Shitty had mentioned bringing to the game. 

For some reason, the prospect of Eric watching Jack play hockey, not knowing it was him before they even talked made him happy. 

 **me  
**_Was it a good game?_  

 **Eric  
** _Oh lord, it was amazing  
__That Zimmermann definitely knows what he’s doing on the ice_  

The complement sends his heart soaring again. Instead of the cold drip of panic down his spine that usually accompanies any comments having to do with his hockey playing, the feeling is absent. 

 **me  
**_You’re a Zimmermann fan?_  

 **Eric  
** _His playing is captivating, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him the entire game_  
_I definitely received some chirping from Shitty for it  
__Are you a fan?_  

 **me  
** _He’s okay I guess  
__His dad was pretty good_  

 **Eric  
**_His dad?_  

Jack is confused about the question for a few seconds before it dawns on him. Eric must not know who Jack’s father is, must not have payed much attention to his backstory. 

The prospect is confusing, to say the least. Jack has rarely met anyone who didn’t already know who he was because of his father. Jack has lived his life expecting that any hockey fan he met, and generally anybody who already knew who he was beforehand, knew who his father was. The weight of his father’s accomplishments, and the weight of the Zimmermann name was a constant thing he carried with him everywhere.

Encountering someone who didn’t seem to know that side of him was new, and frankly, a little surreal. 

**me  
** _Bad Bob Zimmermann, the hockey legend._

**Eric  
** _Lord, do I feel like a fake fan right now  
_ _I have no clue who that is_

Jack has to take a few minutes to try and tamp down the smile that is spreading across his face. Talking to a stranger who has no idea who his father is shouldn’t make him this happy. 

For once in his life, he knows that somebody doesn’t have expectations of him that have everything to do with his father. 

Which is a silly thought to have. Eric doesn’t even know he’s talking to Jack Zimmermann. 

 **me  
**_Oh. Okay_  

 **Eric  
**_Is that bad?_  

 **me  
**_It’s fine._  

Eric doesn’t respond for a few moments, and Jack is distracted by his teammates getting ready to leave the arena. They have a late flight back to Providence and the morning off the next day.

It isn’t until he’s settling down in his seat on the airplane later that night that he checks his phone again. He has a few messages from Eric. 

 **Eric  
** _I guess you have work_  
_Jack, I know we barely know each other, but you can text me whenever you need help  
__I’ll do what I can_  

Jack doesn’t bother responding to the text messages. The plane is already taxiing and he has to set it to airplane mode.

He knows Eric is genuine in his words. Jack may have only talked to him twice, but he can tell that someone who helps a random stranger through a panic attack is someone worth his time. 

- 

 **Cambridge, Massachusetts;** **_Shitty and Lardo’s Apartment_ **  

It becomes sort of a tradition, texting Eric before he goes out onto the ice for a game 

The messaging calms him. His anxious feelings have decreased with each game, Eric’s encouraging words helping immensely whenever he even slightly implies that he needs them. In fact, his stomach had been devoid of his usual nauseated feeling and his hands had been free from shaking before the game last night. It may or may not have something to do with the fact that Jack and Eric had been texting the entire day. 

That happened too. Jack slowly began to text Eric at all hours of the day, even on non-game days, when the anxiety was at a low.

Eric is easy to talk to. He isn’t like his teammates, who always try to include Jack into conversations and different outings, but inevitably mention his father or the trade. Jack knows they’re trying, that they don’t mean to imply anything from their comments. It’s just a part of being the son of Bad Bob and being constantly surrounded by hockey players. He understands.

It doesn’t mean that he enjoys being reminded about all that he has to live up to every hour of the day. 

Which is why his conversations with Eric are easy. He’s still careful to be brief when their topics turn to hockey, mentioning that he’s a ‘fan’ of the Falconers whenever Eric brings the team up. He finds Eric’s fascination with his game play amusing, and even asks him why he enjoys watching him so much. Eric has a lot to say on the matter. 

He mentions that the ease with which Jack skates- his exact words are “lord, that man makes it look like child's play!”- is what makes him so mesmerizing. Jack preens at the description of his skating when he first reads it. He’s sure that Eric is probably over exaggerating, and no way would he be saying those words if he knew it was Jack himself he was talking about, but it’s still nice to hear. 

He learns so much about the other man. Eric was a figure skater for years before turning to hockey. He’s originally from Georgia, which explains the slight southern drawl that Jack had heard over the phone that night when Eric picked up his call. He doesn’t eat nearly as many pastries as he bakes for his family and business, and he keeps innumerable amounts of butter in his fridge. One day, he wants to be able to write a cookbook, and maybe appear on one of Food Network’s baking competitions, but doesn’t think it’ll be in the near future because his business is so new. 

He loves to feed others, especially his friends and family. Eric had pointed that attribute to his southern hospitality, and Jack had laughed. Eric loves Beyonce, dreams of seeing her live one day, maybe even meeting her. Jack has the insane urge to buy the man concert tickets before he realizes he’s being unreasonable, that the other man would find the gesture over the top, not to mention they still barely know each other, barely scratching the surface of their respective stories and personalities. There’s too many and too little things that Jack knows about the other man to count, finds every little tidbit of information exciting. 

Jack also learns things about Eric that aren’t explicitly stated. 

The man is unbelievably kind, from what Jack can tell. From his stories that he’s told Jack, he gleans that Eric has always put everybody else in his life first before he can even think of himself. He loves his friends something fierce, offhandedly mentioning that he probably wouldn’t have gotten through college without them. 

That’s another thing. Eric hasn’t outright said it, but Jack realizes that the other man isn’t straight when he tells the story of how he accidentally came out to his parents after he graduated from college. From what Jack can tell, his parents were fine with it, maybe even knew way before Eric even hinted at it. 

When Jack learns this piece of information about Eric, his mind blanks out for a moment. 

Jack has been publicly out for a year now. When he first decided to do it, it had been half a giant ‘fuck you’ to the Bruins and half him being tired of hiding it for so long. Truthfully, he had been tired of hiding it even back in the juniors, when he and Kent had been sneaking around. Jack had never wanted to hide, never wanted to be forced to act like something that was such a huge part of him didn’t exist.

But he knew that it would affect his career, that coming out at the wrong time would ruin any potential of people thinking he was anything more than Bad Bob Zimmermann’s prodigal son. So, he waited.

When the trade had happened, he had bluntly told the Providence PR team that he was bisexual and he wasn’t planning on hiding it any longer. Jack had to give them credit, all they did was blink for a few silent moments and then start rolling out contingency plans on how to go about Jack being the first out player in the NHL.

The first few months had certainly been rocky, what with having to get used to playing with a whole new team of guys he once played against and getting used to being known as the NHL’s first openly bisexual player. It had been rough, but Shitty and the rest of his family had helped him immensely. 

So, when Eric basically tells him that he is very much gay, it gives Jack pause for a few moments. 

To put it bluntly, Jack cannot believe that somebody like Eric is still single. There’s just no possible way that somebody isn’t already in love with this man . 

Jack also doesn’t want to examine the fluttery feeling in his stomach too closely. So, he doesn’t. 

Jack doesn’t let Eric know he’s bisexual. Eric still doesn’t know that he’s actually talking to Jack Zimmermann, hockey player for the Falconers. Eric thinks he’s just talking to Jack, Shitty’s friend. 

And Jack knows that things probably wouldn’t change if he were to tell him. Sure, Eric talks about how much he admires Jack’s playing, and seems like a huge fan, but Jack gets the feeling that Eric wouldn’t treat him any differently. Sure, he’d probably be extremely shocked, but Eric knows him first and foremost as the stranger he helped through a panic attack at three o’clock in the morning. That has to count for something. 

So, Jack doesn’t mention that he is bisexual and continues to ignore the weird feeling he gets every time he learns a new fact about Eric. 

Shitty is also starting to become suspicious. 

“Bro, who the fuck has gotten you all smiley lately?” 

They’re sitting on the couch in Shitty and Lardo’s apartment, Shitty holding a beer in hand and sprawled halfway across Jack’s lap as Jack goes over some tape that he promised himself he’d watch during his few days off. Jack barely even protests anymore when Shitty drapes himself across him. He quickly learned to get used to it, that Shitty barely has any personal space boundaries when it comes to Jack. 

Jack fidgets, and impulsively sends a glance towards the black screen of his phone. Eric had last been live texting him how a new recipe he was trying was going, and he hasn’t responded in a while. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack says automatically as he looks back at the television. 

Shitty burps and grabs Jack, putting him in a headlock. “Bullshit! I’ve seen you smiling at that phone as if the sun is shining through the screen for weeks now. Who’s the lucky lady or man?” 

Jack winces at the words, and before he can even think about it, he blurts out, “Man.” 

Shitty gives pause. “Really?” 

Jack knows why Shitty is so hesitant. He’s only ever been with a few guys in his life, tending to stay more private with them. 

Jack figures he’s not getting out of this one, so he sighs and runs his hand through his hair a few times before looking at the ceiling as he quietly answers his friend. “Yep.” 

Jack knows he can trust Shitty, knows that his best friend is going to have his back no matter what. He know’s it going to be okay. 

That still doesn't change the fact that he doesn’t like talking about his feelings. 

That also doesn’t stop the slight swell of panic he can feel in his chest, the wave building until his hands begin to shake, a feeling he hasn’t had in a week. 

Jack wishes he could text Eric.

“Jack…” Shitty trails off for a second before he feels him slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch feels comforting, like it did during freshman year when Jack still felt so alone, like he had no clue what he was doing. Shitty had been that comfort and had never turned back since then. 

“I know this isn’t news for you. I don’t even know why this is such a big deal, I don’t even like him in that way.” For some reason, Jack can’t help but feel like he’s lying to himself. 

This time, Shitty doesn’t wait to fully wrap Jack in a hug. Jack hesitates for a moment before tentatively hugging his friend back, more relieved than he would like to admit at the reaction. 

Shitty pulls back and sets his hands on Jack’s shoulder, his expression looking uncharacteristically serious. “I won’t pry if you don’t want me to.” 

The words make Jack laugh, the mood lightening as Shitty smiles back. “Thanks, man,” Jack says.

“Okay, but I’m still gonna ask for deets! Who's this guy who obviously has the sun shining out of his ass?” 

Jack splutters for a second and shrugs Shitty’s arm off, turning back to the tape that is still playing on the television. He’s going to have to rewind it. 

“Nobody,” he answers, and when he hears Shitty gearing up to protest, he continues on. “And it isn’t like that, we’re just friends.” 

Shitty must see something in his expression, something that is so obviously telling of how he wants to be done with this conversation, because he sighs and begins to ask about the players on the tape. 

Jack is grateful. Shitty may have his moments, but he still knows Jack almost as well as Jack knows himself. 

They spend the rest of the night watching tape with Shitty ranting about all of the people he despises in his classes at Harvard. Jack gets the distinct feeling that Shitty misses Samwell more than he lets on. 

Eventually, Eric texts him back, just as Shitty clumsily hugs Jack goodnight and stumbles back into his room where Lardo had holed herself up the entire night working on a painting. 

 **Eric  
** _Omg! I’m so sorry I forgot to text back  
__I’ve literally been tweaking the recipe for hours now_  

 **me  
**_You’re still at work? It’s midnight_  

 **Eric  
** _One never wastes time on his creations  
__Ok, but seriously, I’ve almost got the spice combination for these muffins down perfectly_  

**me  
** _You need to rest_

**Eric  
** _Excuse me, you are not the boss of me :P_  
_Though you’re probably right  
__*sigh*_  

Every time that Eric uses an emoji, Jack’s smile gets wider. He’s never particularly found any use in them, but the longer they’ve talked, the more Eric has incorporated them into his messages. It’s almost like a second language for him. 

 **me  
**_What recipe is it?_  

**Eric  
** _Pumpkin spice muffins_  
_Pretty standard, but I wanted to play around with the recipe a little  
_ _Make it my own :D_

**me  
** _Sound good_

**Eric  
** _How would you know, Mr. I-Only-Eat-Protein-Shakes?_

**me  
**_I regret telling you about my eating habits_  

 **Eric  
** _Not that I don’t admire healthy eating  
__But lord, you’re missing out on the gift that is southern food_  

 **me  
**_I don’t know anybody southern though_  

**Eric  
** _I’m hurt!  
Y_ _ou know me, of course_

**me  
** _We’ve never met though_

**Eric  
**_Well, if we ever do meet, the first thing I’m doing is baking you a pie_  

Jack’s heart stops at the message. Eric has thought about meeting him. 

Jack can’t deny the fact that he’s thought about the possibility. Eric is friends with Shitty and Lardo, and probably knows both Ransom and Holster too, if what he knows about Eric’s college hockey career is true. 

He’s also thought about that too, that if Jack had stayed at Samwell for two more years, that he would have met Eric, would have gotten to play hockey with Eric. He can’t imagine what it would have been like. Maybe they would have been instant friends, or maybe Jack wouldn’t have warmed up to him at first, seeing as how back then, he never was in a particularly friendly mood for long. 

But he can’t dwell on that. Jack made his decision to cut his NCAA career short when he signed with the Bruins. He knew what he was doing, and he doesn’t regret it one bit. Though maybe he would have been a little less anxious if he saw his NCAA career through, maybe he would have found more people than just Shitty to help him. 

**me  
** _I don’t like pie_

**Eric  
** _I don’t know if I can talk to you anymore :O  
_ _You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d tried one of mine!_

**me  
**_Haha_  

 **Eric  
**_:P_  

-

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Falconer’s Locker Room_ **

**Eric  
**_Dog or cat?_  

 **me  
** _Dog  
__Cupcakes or cake?_  

**Eric  
** _Is that even a question? Cupcakes  
_ _Falconer or Bruins?_

**me  
** _Seriously?_

  **Eric  
**_Yes, Jack! I still don’t know your favorite hockey team_

**me  
** _Fine, Falconers  
_ _Butter or maple for baking_

**Eric  
** _> :( Oh now you’re just being evil!  
_ _Butter, only because how would I bake anything without it?_

The questions continue on like that for a short while. Eric had been the one to suggest the little game, wanting to know more about Jack. Jack had been thankful for the texts, the upcoming game and accompanying anxiety pretty much vanishing the longer Eric asked him insignificant facts about himself. 

Soon enough, it’s time for Jack to head to the ice, and he quickly sends Eric a message so he knows where he went.

**me  
** _Sorry, time for work_

He doesn’t wait for a response before storing his phone in his bag. Jack begins to pull his skates on when he feels someone take a seat on the bench next to him. 

“Zimmboni,” Tater says, a warm smile adorning his features. Jack can’t help but smile back, an unusual move on his part. He’s normally completely focused on running through plays in his head at this point, trying vehemently to stop the anxious shaking of his hands. 

But the shaking is gone, his head is blessedly quiet, and only excitement is flowing through his system. Excitement to play the game he loves, to get back out on the ice and play a good game of hockey with his teammates. Jack thinks he has Eric to thank. Without the other man, he wouldn’t have been as relaxed as he is.

“You be looking happy,” Tater says as Jack smiles back. “Very nice.”

Tater’s happiness is almost infectious, and Jack continues to smile as they take to the ice.

- 

Later, after a 3-1 win at home against the Stars, Jack finds himself laying in bed, staring at Eric’s number. 

He hasn’t texted the other man since before the game, and he’s in surprisingly good mood. It doesn’t feel like texting is going to be enough for the night. 

He wants to call Eric. 

Despite all the texting they’ve done over the last few weeks, they haven’t actually spoke to each other since the night of the game against the Bruins. Jack can faintly remember Eric’s southern drawl, finds himself wanting to hear it again after a good game, wants to tell Eric about anything and everything. 

Jack still hasn’t examine the weird fluttery feeling in his stomach, and intends to wait as long as possible before he does. 

It has to be due to the excitement of making a new friend. Making friends has always been hard for him, people more often than not brushing him off as an emotionally stunted hockey robot. The feeling must be because it’s so easy to talk to Eric, so easy to feel like they’ve been friends for years. 

Jack hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. 

There’s a few breathless moments filled only with the sounds of the line ringing. Jack’s heart is racing.   
  
“Hello? Jack?” 

Jack breathes out shakily, switching the phone to his other ear. “Hi, Eric.” 

Eric is silent. Jack can hear the sounds in the background suddenly pause, almost as if Eric is walking into another room. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about something?” 

The last of Jack’s apprehension leaves his system at the comment. Eric thinks he’s calling because he needs to be talked down from an attack. He’s never had anyone care about him this much, other than Shitty and his parents. 

“I’m fine,” Jack says quietly despite being completely alone in his apartment. It feels like a whispering moment. “I can go if you’re busy, _euh_ , I just wanted to talk,” he stutters out, the nervousness coming back in full force. “I’m sorry for not texting before, I guess I just-” 

Jack pauses when he hears giggling on the other line. The sound is incredibly sweet, like bells. 

“Listen to you, being all concerned about calling! Like I would ever refuse talking to you,” Eric says, the sound of his voice light and incredibly comforting. 

Jack smiles. “Okay,” he responds, because he doesn’t know how else to respond to the other man. He didn’t have a plan for calling him, and doesn’t want to admit that all Jack really wanted was to hear his voice again. 

Eric laughs again, and Jack is coming to find that he can’t get enough of the noise. 

“How was work?” 

Jack pauses, thinks about what to say about ‘work.’ “It was good, we got a lot done today.” He resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. _Try and be more vague, Jack_ he thinks.

Eric takes it in stride. “That's good!” he says excitedly, a rustling noise in the background. It sounds like he’s climbing into bed. “I finally figured out the perfect combination of spices for my muffins.” 

“Really?” 

Jack can practically hear Eric vibrating on the end of the line. “Yeah! I’ll admit, I was a little nervous to leave out as much cinnamon as I did, but combined with the ginger and the nutmeg? Jack, the taste was _amazing_ …” Jack zones out as he listens to Eric ramble on about the recipe, content just to listen to the sound of the man’s voice. His accent gets thicker the faster he talks, as if he isn’t holding back or aware of the way his words sound together. It’s adorable.  

“Jack?” 

Jack snaps out of his daze and winces. “Sorry, sorry. Zoned out.”

Eric harrumphs, and Jack tries not to sigh in contentment. “Am I boring you with my rambling?”

“No!” Jack blurts out, afraid Eric is going to hang up on him. “No, sorry, it’s just been a long day,” he replies, thinking of any excuse except ‘I like your voice.’ 

“You sure you don’t wanna just hang up?” 

Jack huffs in frustration. “Eric. I like talking to you.”

The other end is silent for a second before he hears an exhale. “Well, I am certainly glad to hear that, Jack.” 

They continue talking, about anything and everything. Somehow, their conversation turns to their parents, and Jack talks vaguely about the pressure he had, being his father’s son. Eric sounds genuinely concerned until Jack mentions that their relationship is better now than it ever used to be, that he came to realize that he was never going to be his father. 

Eric tells him about his parents too, how he’s best friends with his mother and how he never used to be particularly close with his father until recently. He says that coming out, ironically, was what brought them together. His father was fine with it from the beginning, and the compassion he showed his son was what made them grow closer than they ever had been.

Eventually, Eric’s voice grows slower, and Jack can feel the sleepiness weighing on his eyelids. It isn’t until Eric stops in the middle of his story about his figure skating days, interrupted by a yawn, that Jack realizes it’s nearly two in the morning. 

“Time for bed,” Jack instructs, delighting in the protesting noise that Eric makes. He doesn’t want to stop talking either, and for some reason, that sends a flood of warmth rushing through Jack’s veins. 

“But Jack, I was just getting to the good part,” Eric’s whining is interrupted by another yawn, and this time, Jack laughs. 

“You can tell me about it tomorrow.” 

There’s a second of silence. “Yeah?” 

The moment feels fragile. “Yeah. Goodnight, Eric.”

“Night, Jack. Sleep well.”

After he hears the dial tone, Jack sets his phone on his side table and carefully doesn’t examine the feeling of happiness and contentment settling into his gut. 

He falls asleep to the memory of Eric’s laugh echoing across the phone. 


	3. Eric

**PART III: ERIC**

**~**

**Providence, Rhode Island;** **_“Bitty’s”_ **  

“Dex!” 

Bitty groans as he continues to knead the large amount of dough in front of him. The recipe he’s using calls for a continuous kneading of the dough for it to set properly, meaning he can’t do anything else for five minutes. And his mixer has stopped mixing. 

Dex comes rushing back to the kitchen at the sound of Bitty’s yell. When he sees Bitty kneading dough in the corner, his eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?” 

Bitty might be pouting. “My mixer stopped mixing and I can’t move.”

Dex shoots him an incredulous look. “Seriously?” 

Bitty huffs and sends him the best reprimanding look he can muster while his hands are still kneading the large pile of dough. If he hadn’t have been preoccupied, his hands would have been resting on his hips. “Who’s the one paying you, Mr. Poindexter?” 

Dex sighs in resignation before walking over and fiddling with the mixer before it begins to mix again. “There you go, Bits.” 

“Babe?” 

Dex and Bitty turn to find Nursey wandering back to the kitchen. He looks around for a moment before his eyes come to rest on his husband, a dopey smile gracing his features. “Hey,” he says, smiling softly. 

Dex tries his best to look annoyed, but Bitty can see the stars in his eyes, the warmth just under the surface. “Hey,” he responds. His face blooms red, his freckles becoming more prominent as Nursey darts in to land a soft kiss to his lips.

Bitty feels like he’s intruding in his own kitchen, and before he can realize what’s happening, his mind drifts towards Jack. 

He barely resists the urge to groan out loud and slam his head against the metal countertops. 

Bitty has a crush. Bitty has a huge, ridiculous crush on a, probably, straight man that he has never once met in his life. He doesn’t even know what Jack looks like, for crying out loud. 

It makes sense, though. It was only a matter of time before Bitty developed feelings for the other man. 

Jack was incredibly awkward. But instead of finding his awkwardness stilting, Bitty thought it was endearing, and the man always seemed genuine in their conversations, like he was always trying to contribute. 

Jack was kind and honest. Jack liked hockey. Jack was extremely interested in history, and had even mentioned that he sometimes did photography for a hobby when he wasn't too busy with work. 

That was another thing. Jack always seemed to be working, and had the strangest hours. But that just showed Bitty how committed he was, how much he cared about his career. 

Bitty still didn’t have a clue what Jack looked like, or what he even did for a living. He had no clue where Jack lived or how he and Shitty had become friends. He had no clue how bad his anxiety disorder really was. 

What Bitty did know was this: Jack was Canadian, which he had gleaned from the one time they had talked over the phone. Jack was unbelievably attentive, always willing to listen to Bitty ramble for hours on end about whatever new recipe he was trying that day. And Jack was an anxious person, but it didn’t deter how grateful he was for Bitty’s help or how much he tried not to push his problems onto him. He always made sure that Bitty himself was doing okay, that he had nothing he needed to talk through. 

Yeah, Bitty was screwed. 

“Hey, who’s Jack?” 

Bitty’s head whips around at the question, staring wide eyed at Nursey who is now holding up Bitty’s phone, his eyebrows moving suggestively. 

“Give me that!” Bitty shrieks as he lunges for his phone. Nursey isn’t expecting it, because as soon as Bitty hits his chest, he goes stumbling backward, landing on his ass. Bitty scrambles to grab his phone out of Nursey’s hand, kicking and pushing the whole way. 

As soon as Bitty has his phone in his hand, he shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans and goes stomping back towards his dough. He can feel his cheeks burning brightly, a bright beacon as to who they were just asking about. 

“What the fuck?” Dex whispers as he helps Nursey up. Nursey looks a little shellshocked and Bitty tries not to feel smug. 

“So… Jack?” Nursey asks sheepishly as he runs a hand through his curls. Bitty sends a withering glare towards the two boys before drying his hands on a towel. He needs to start shaping the dough before he puts it into the oven. 

“Didn’t your mamas ever tell you to mind your own business?” he huffs out. “And why is nobody in the front of the store? Get out there!” 

Bitty continues to shape the dough as Nursey and Dex scramble to the front of the store, having momentarily forgotten about the crowd of customers waiting. 

As soon as the coast is clear, Bitty casts one more glance towards the front of the shop before taking his phone out of his pocket, the message notification from Jack still on his home screen. 

**Jack  
** _Look at this little guy_

There’s a picture of a goose attached to the message. Bitty can’t help but giggle, rolling his eyes at the other man’s antics. 

Jack has gotten into the habit of sending him pictures he takes while he has free time, ranging from animals walking in his neighborhood to the weather that day to a particularly nice sunset. 

 **me  
** _How cute!_  

Bitty doesn’t expect a response for a while, considering how sporadic Jack was at texting back. Bitty blames it on the weird hours he keeps for work, still not having a full explanation for it.

Instead, Bitty is pleasantly surprised when Jack texts back almost immediately.

 **Jack  
** _Saw him on my morning run_  

 **me  
** _Gosh, how early do you get up and run?_  

**Jack  
** _Up at 5 and out the door by 5:30 when I’m not travelling_

**me  
** _Goodness  
_ _I mean, I’m at the bakery at 4 most days but I’m barely awake_  

 **Jack  
** _I have to stick with my routine_  

 **me  
** _Routine?_  

 **Jack  
** _Yeah  
_ _It helps my anxiety, having a strict routine_  

 **me  
** _I can see that  
_ _Whatever helps!_  

 **Jack  
** _You help_  

 **Me  
** _Pardon?_  

**Jack  
** _You help  
_ _I never feel as anxious when I talk to you  
_ _I haven’t had an attack in weeks_   


Bitty can barely breathe with how fast his heart is racing. He feels lightheaded, and he’s sure that the expression on his face is a sight to behold. 

 **me  
** _Lord, Jack, you can’t put all of that on me  
_ _I’m not a cure_  

Bitty is sure he’s said the wrong thing when it takes a few minutes longer for Jack to respond to his latest message. 

 **Jack  
** _Sure  
_ _But you’re a good distraction  
_ _It gives me something to focus on other than all the worries I constantly have_  

**me  
** _You better be careful talkin like that, you charmer_

  **Jack  
** _:)_

Bitty’s chest clenches at the emoji, stunned into silence for the moment. 

Jack has never once used an emoji, in all the weeks they've been texting back and forth. Usually, Bitty is the one to instill them into the conversation, feeling like his texts are too bare without them. Jack had asked about them once, near the beginning of their texting. 

Sometimes, Bitty has thought about what he’s even doing. Sure, Bitty has been texting Jack for weeks, and sure, he helps Jack through panic attacks and can quite literally be a distraction from his ever present anxiety. But he’s only ever talked to the man twice, hasn’t even seen a picture of him. For all he knows, Jack could be a balding old man in his sixties. Though, Bitty severely doubts that Shitty hangs out with old men in his free time, seeing as he complains about most of his professors enough. 

But then Bitty remembers the sound of Jack’s voice of the phone, late at night. He remembers the way that Jack comes across as wholly genuine and sincere. He remembers the feeling in his chest whenever Jack says he’s sure that Bitty’s baking is amazing, even though he’s never tasted it. He remembers the fact that Bitty hasn’t had a friend like this in ages, and he hasn’t even met the damn man. 

Jack’s worth it, even if he never feels the same way that Bitty does. 

**me  
** _Look at you, using emojis! I’m so proud_

**Jack  
** _I learned from the best, eh?_  

 **me  
** _I guess you did :)_  

- 

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Bitty’s Apartment_ **  

Bitty’s got a pie in the oven, all the dishes are washed and put away, and a load of laundry in the washing machine when he decides to turn the TV on out of pure boredom. 

To his surprise, the Falconers game is on, and it looks like they’re only halfway through the first period. They’re playing the Blackhawks this time, and they’re down at 2-0. 

Before Bitty can change the channel to Food Network, knowing they always play Chopped around this time, a close up of Zimmermann’s face is flashed up on the screen. Bitty’s finger freezes over the remote buttons, captivated by the expression on the man’s face. 

He looks _pissed_. His shift isn’t up, so he’s sitting on the bench, his stick gripped tightly in his hands as he chews angrily on his mouth guard. His eyes are narrowed towards the ice, following the players dashing across the ice with stunning accuracy. Zimmermann yells something towards the ice and Bitty holds his breath at the anger dancing in the other man’s eyes. 

Without thinking, Bitty picks up his cell phone. 

 **me  
** _Watching the Falconers game and Zimmermann looks PISSED.  
_ _His face: >:l_ 

Bitty doesn’t expect a response anytime soon. Jack is always sporadic with his responses, and Bitty has come to accept that most of the time, Jack has to be the one to start the conversation. 

Bitty continues to text Jack for the rest of the first period and majority of the second period. He figures the messages will make Jack smile when he eventually reads them. 

 **me  
** _Oh he’s back on the ice now  
_ _Aaaaaand he looks like he’s ready to bowl someone over  
_ _OH SHIT!  
_ _That check looked like it hurt D:  
_ _OH HE’S GOT THE PUCK :D  
_ _GOAL!!!!!!!!  
_ _Wow, that shot was amazing!  
_ _Mashkov gets the second goal!  
_ _He looks really scary on the ice, but I bet he’s just a giant teddy bear  
_ _I googled him and correction: a giant Russian teddy bear  
_ _2nd period is starting!  
_ _Goodness, they keep showing Zimmermann  
_ _Be still, my beating heart  
_ _That man is just too good looking_  

The texts continue much the same until Bitty begins to nod off late in the third period. He doesn’t stir until his phone vibrates from where it’s trapped under his ear. 

The time reads a little past midnight, and Bitty can see that the new message is from Jack. Bitty yawns and rolls his eyes. Jack and his ridiculous work hours. 

**Jack  
** _Those were entertaining to read  
_ _Heard they won in OT_

Bitty gasps when he realizes that he didn’t get to catch the rest of the game. 

 **me  
** _I fell asleep during third period :(_  

 **Jack  
** _Fake fan_  

**me  
** _Jack!_

**Jack  
** _:)_  

They text for a few more minutes before Bitty’s yawns become too much to handle. 

In a fit of stupidity or maybe just the bravery that comes only late at night, Bitty poses the one question that has been hovering in the forefront of his mind for the past few days, begging him to ask Jack. 

 **me  
** _Jack?_  

 **Jack** _  
Yes?_  

**me**

_Are we ever going to meet?_  

**Jack**

_Eric…._  

The response makes Bitty’s stomach drop, and he’s horrified at the tears that spring to his eyes almost immediately. 

Bitty should have known that Jack didn’t see him in that way. Even though Bitty never explicitly stated how he feels towards the other man, it’s probably obvious with his constant texting and the question about meeting. He should have known that Jack wouldn’t feel as much as him. And why should he? Bitty was just a man he had never met who helped him feel less anxious. Sure, they were friends, and that definitely meant something, but Bitty was the one who had went and developed feelings. 

 **me  
** _It’s fine  
_ _Goodnight, Jack_  

 **Jack  
** _Eric  
Just  
_ _Goodnight_  

The last message comes in five minutes after the first two, Bitty already thinking that Jack had just decided to leave the conversation be.

Bitty’s last thought before he drifts into a fitful sleep is that he wishes he was better at not falling for men that only ever saw him as a close friend. 

-

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_“Bitty’s”_ **  

Bitty is actually in the front of the shop for once that morning

Nursey had the day off and Dex had called out sick, stating that he had a coding deadline that he needed to meet later that night. Bitty suspects that he was lying, and just calling in so he could spend the day with his husband. 

Shitty had also called earlier that morning and had talked Bitty’s ear off about having to meet a client in Providence later that afternoon- never mind the fact that Bitty had confusedly pointed out that Shitty wasn’t even a lawyer yet- stating that he was going to swing by the bakery to say hello and catch up for a while.

While Bitty definitely appreciated the thought and always loved to see his friends, his mood had been something foul for the last week. 

The texts between Jack and him had rapidly declined, no other reason except for Bitty’s awkward questioning of them possibly meeting. They still talked about random things, small insignificant facts about the other, but now the conversation was stilted, Bitty’s flirtatious attitude absent. 

Bitty liked being Jack’s friend, even loved it. He had never had someone he could be so open and honest with, someone he could spill his heart to without fear of being judged. But he had decided to distance himself, anything to stop his feelings from blooming into something more than a stupid and silly crush. 

Although Bitty suspected that it was far too late for that. 

In addition to all the shit happening in his personal life, all the new recipes that Bitty had tried in the last week had turned out, quite literally, horrible.

Not only was he wallowing in self pity at the fact that he once again fell for someone who wouldn’t love him back, but the only thing that usually cheered him up whenever he was down was yet another source of his bad mood.

Bitty just couldn’t win this week. 

He’s setting the dough in the fridge to chill for the sea salt chocolate tart he’s attempting to make that afternoon as the chocolate mixture heats on the stove when he hears the front door of the shop jingle. 

“Bits!” 

Bitty curses, running his hands through his hair a few times, furtively trying to make himself seem presentable and not as if he’s been cursing at his failed attempts of baked goods all morning. 

“Coming, Shitty!” He figures the apron will have caught most of the flour he’s been throwing around the kitchen in frustration today. Bitty walks out into the front of the shop and completely freezes in his tracks. 

Because Shitty is definitely not alone. 

Time seems to stand still when Bitty realizes who exactly is standing next to Shitty, wringing his hands nervously and glancing around the shop in open curiosity. 

It’s Zimmermann, or otherwise known as the NHL player that Bitty thirsts over on the regular whenever he catches a Falconers game on the television. 

It’s silent for a moment as Bitty observes him. He’s tall, and Bitty swallows when he realizes that Bitty would have to stand on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around his neck- 

Bitty shakes his thoughts away and blushes before looking back at the other man. His eyes are droopy, an air of sadness filling the impossible icy blue of his irises. Zimmermann’s jaw is even sharper in person, the camera at games not giving it any justice, and his floppy boyband bangs are a little longer than when Bitty first watched the game against Boston. 

Again, Bitty takes note of how tall the man is. He seems like he’s trying to curl in on himself, like he never quite grew into his height after puberty, or as if he wishes that he were smaller, more capable of disappearing at a moment's notice. For some odd reason, his demeanor reminds him of Jack. 

Shitty breaks Bitty’s intense concentration on the other man with a pointed throat clearing. Bitty can feel his cheeks flaming and his hands flutter where he’s gripping his apron. 

“Bro, sorry for not giving you a heads up,” he smirks and angles his head back at Zimmermann. “But, I told this one that it was practically criminal that he hadn’t visited your bakery yet!” Shitty’s smile is back as he swings an arm around Zimmermann. “A year in Providence and he’s yet to try any of your orgasmic-” 

Bitty cuts him off before he can get anymore vulgar, his cheeks flaming impossibly brighter. “Okay, Shits,” he says pointedly before turning back to the NHL star standing in the middle of his bakery looking a little lost. And isn’t that something Bitty never thought he would be saying. “Hi, I’m Bitty. As you probably assumed from the name of this place,” he says with a flourish towards the rest of the shop. 

Zimmermann smiles tentatively and takes a small step forward. “Nice to meet you.” His voice is deep, the slight Canadian accent peeking through. Bitty thinks of Jack again. “I’m Jack Zimmermann, but I think Shitty may have mentioned you know that?” 

Bitty laughs slightly, but his mind is racing a mile a minute. The similarities to his Jack just keep hitting him harder. The accent, the name. He almost face palms when he realizes he forgot that Zimmermann's first name is also Jack. It’s like the universe wants Bitty to suffer, the awkward and stilted conversations from earlier that week with his Jack flooding his mind. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bitty blurts out before wincing, wanting the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I mean, uh, I’ve been watching the games this season! Lord, y’all have been doing so well lately,” Bitty rambles on, watching the way that Jack seems to get more self-conscious by the second. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. 

There’s an awkward moment of silence. 

“So, is Jack your ‘client,’ Shitty?” Bitty questions his friend, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. 

Shitty looks sheepish. “Well, ya know, he will be once I get my degree, right, Jacky boy?” Jack turns back to Bitty and minutely shakes his head. Bitty has to cover his mouth so he doesn’t start giggling. “Jack and I actually go way back, we met when-” 

Shitty’s sentence is cut off by the acrid smell of something burning. Bitty shrieks and turns back to run into the kitchen. 

In his time talking to Shitty and Jack, he had completely forgotten about the chocolate mixture on the stove top. When he reaches the pot, most of it has burned to the bottom of the pan, the smell absolutely disgusting. 

Bitty quickly removes it from the heat and shuts off the stove. He takes a deep breath before burying his head in his hands. Another recipe down the drain. 

And just like that, his bad mood is back tenfold. Never mind the fact that there’s an NHL star with his best friend in the front of his shop, he wants nothing more than to be alone for the next few hours so he can wallow in his own self pity. 

“Bits?” 

Bitty looks up to find Shitty standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a solemn look on his face. He knows what it means when Bitty ruins recipes, knows that it means something bigger is happening in his personal life than just a few mishaps in the kitchen. 

Bitty doesn’t even need to say anything before Shitty comes over and gives him a warm hug. Bitty hugs back, thankful that Shitty knows when to push and when to back off. 

“I’m here to talk if you want,” Shitty starts, stepping away while leaving a hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “But I can tell you wanna be alone.” Bitty nods, not wanting to tell Shitty that this is inadvertently his fault for leaving his phone in between the cushions that night a few months ago. 

But Bitty can’t think like that. It isn’t truly Shitty’s fault at all. He looks back up and gives a forced smile to Shitty who gives him one last pat on the back and goes to leave. 

“Shits?” Bitty calls out. “Y’all can take some muffins, maybe some pie slices. Sorry for being such a horrible host. Mama would have my head if she knew.” 

Shitty just chuckles and shakes his head. “Love you, Bits. Give me a call?” 

With that, Shitty and Jack are gone. Bitty only gives himself a few moments to dwell on the fact that he just basically forced an NHL star out of his bakery before pushing it to the back of his mind and taking his cell phone from his pocket.

He scrolls back through the conversation he had last night with Jack, sighing at the fact that Jack had tried to keep it going, tried to see how Bitty was doing. But Bitty’s heart wasn’t in it, and it had made him just feel worse about the situation. 

Bitty decides to make himself some mini pies to take home, declaring that he deserves it after the week he’s had. 

He just hopes everything starts to look up soon. 

- 

It isn’t until a few days later when Bitty realizes just how rude he was to Jack Zimmermann. 

Nursey finds him in the kitchen with his head buried in his hands, having just put a batch of cookies for the front case in the oven. 

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Nursey asks, concern etched into his tone. His persistent bad mood for the last week and a half added on top of all the failed recipes he’s been enduring have begun to freak both Dex and Nursey out. In result, they’ve both been on high alert whenever one of them has a shift with Bitty in the bakery. 

“I can’t believe myself!” Bitty exclaims, throwing his arms out with a flourish. Out of the corner of his eye, Bitty can see Nursey take a few steps back, apprehension written all over his face. “I basically forced him out of here! I’ve never been so rude in my life, mama would kill me!” 

Nursey is confused. “Who?” 

“Jack Zimmermann!” Bitty yells back.

The kitchen is silent for about a minute until Nursey’s eyes bug out of his head, his whole body whipping around to run back out to the front of the store. Bitty is bewildered until the other man runs back in looking frantic and points over his shoulder. 

“Uh, do you mean the Jack Zimmermann that just walked in a few minutes ago and is standing in line?” 

Bitty completely freezes before stumbling back out to the store front where Dex is taking orders from the mid afternoon rush of customers. 

Bitty looks around for a few seconds before he spots Jack Zimmermann standing in the middle of the line, dressed in some loose athletic shorts, a tight jacket, and a Falconers cap pulled low over his eyes. His eyes keep shifting across the store, almost as if he’s looking for someone or something. 

Bitty stares at him for a moment until Zimmermann’s eyes shift towards him and stop. Bitty feels his whole body freeze, unsure whether to smile or turn tail and run back to the kitchen. Zimmermann’s eyes are the regular icy blue, and he feels like he physically cannot look away. 

Zimmermann takes the decision out of his hands when he smiles shyly and shifts his eyes down to his feet, almost as if he’s embarrassed to be caught looking at Bitty. 

That decides it for Bitty. He has to apologize for the afternoon a few days ago with Shitty. 

Bitty waits for the next few customers to order and receive their baked goods before he nudges Dex out of the way, taking his place at the register as Jack steps forward in line. Dex makes a small noise of protest, but a quick glare sent over Bitty’s shoulder shuts him up. 

There’s a few seconds of awkward silence when it’s finally Jack’s turn. He looks unsure and almost a little nervous, his eyes shifting away from Bitty every few seconds towards the baked goods case. 

“Hi!” Bitty blurts out. He can hear Dex and Nursey chuckling in the background. Those boys. “Uh, I see you came back after the other day?” he says it like a question, almost as if he’s unsure that Jack Zimmermann is actually standing in his bakery once again. 

Jack smiles slightly. “Yeah. I never got to try anything.” 

Lord, Bitty is going to have a heart attack. 

“Well, what would you like to try?” 

Jack wanders over to the case, gazing at everything that’s on display. After a few seconds, he begins to look a little overwhelmed, which is something that Bitty has observed on many different customers who have never been to the bakery before. 

“Maybe the maple apple pie?” Bitty ventures, hoping that Jack will agree. It’s one of his newest pie recipes and has been a hit with everyone that has tried it thus far. 

Jack looks surprised. “Maple?” 

“Yep! Real maple. I found a way to incorporate it into the crust and it’s honestly one of the best tasting pie crusts I’ve made in my entire life,” Bitty gushes, a smile gracing his features. He could go on and on about the new ways that he’s using maple in, but he doesn't want to bore the NHL star in his bakery. 

Jack is silent for a full minute and Bitty is terrified that he said something wrong. Before he can open his mouth to question it, Jack smiles back weakly and turns to gaze at the case again. His eyes are filled with sorrow and what almost looks like regret. “Sorry, sorry. You just remind me of someone I know...” he trails off, his brows furrowing in frustration. 

Bitty decides to change the subject. Jack looks like he needs it. 

“Well, if you decide you want the pie, it’ll be free of charge!” Jack looks upset at the prospect, almost like he forced Bitty into making it free for him, and Bitty scrambles to correct his trail of thought. Jack probably gets food and items for free all the time, simply because he is who he is. Bitty imagines it gets tiring. “I just mean, uh, since I was so rude to you the other day. Forcin’ you out of my bakery like that!” 

Jack looks a little relieved. “It’s okay. We all have our days,” he says, and he certainly seems like he knows it more than most people.

Bitty just smiles softly back at him as Dex reaches into the case to get a piece of pie for the Falconer. Bitty rings Jack up in silence, not accepting any of his money, the soft and gentle chatter of the other bakery occupants washing over them. Bitty can smell the batch of banana bread just finishing up in the oven, filling Bitty’s stomach with warmth. It’s the first new recipe in a week that has come out nice. 

Bitty loves his bakery, loves that it can be a sanctuary whenever he may need to take a step back from his mind for a couple of hours. Of course, he’s there every day, but sometimes he just needs to disconnect for a while, and Nursey and Dex are usually perceptive enough to leave him be in the kitchen. 

Over the last year, he’s accumulated a small number of regular customers who grace the bakery a few times a week, some every day. The old lady who comes in at eight in the morning, orders a vanilla scone and a plain coffee, and sits in the corner, snuggled into the large leather chair. She calls Bitty Eric and always makes sure to wish him a good morning. There’s the single mom that comes in with her two children every Tuesday afternoon after school, treating them to whatever they’d like that day. Bitty especially loves seeing her children’s faces light up every time he has a new recipe for them to try. 

He only hopes that Jack Zimmermann will view it as a place to get away as so many others seem to do. 

“Here you are,” Bitty says softly as he hands over the slice of pie packed away in a small to-go container. Jack smiles in thanks. 

A few seconds later and Jack is bidding him goodbye. Bitty hesitates before waving. “Good luck against the Habs!” 

Jack’s face falls for a split second, so brief that if Bitty hadn't been paying attention he wouldn’t have even noticed, before nodding slightly and waving as he walks out of the bakery. Bitty is frozen to the spot, unsure on whether he just ruined the only good interaction he will most likely ever have with Jack Zimmermann. 

“Bro,” Nursey whispers from behind him. His tone is full of awe, and Bitty turns around to find him frozen in place, similar to Bitty himself. “Did that really just happen?” 

Bitty is inclined to agree with Nursey, not really sure if any of the last fifteen minutes just happened. But he has a long line of customers he still has to attend to and banana bread that is finishing up in the oven. 

“He’s quite attractive, isn’t he?” 

Nursey nods. 

- 

To Bitty’s complete surprise, Jack Zimmermann comes back two days later. 

And the day after that. 

And even the day after that. 

It’s surprising, at first. Bitty definitely doesn’t expect someone as famous and as busy as Jack to continuously visiting his little bakery, even though it is just down the road from the Falconers practice facility 

In the beginning, Bitty chalks it up to being a convenience thing. Jack always stops by at a certain time in the afternoon, seemingly just after their hockey practice has concluded. It was only logical that Bitty thought it was the closest place that Jack could get himself a treat after a long workout. 

Except, Jack keeps coming back. He’ll come during the weekend, on days that Bitty is sure are his days off. He’s even begun to bring a book to read as he sits on the velvet couch that rests against the far back wall of the shop. Bitty notices that the book changes every few days, and they all seem to be some type of history novel. 

Their interactions are never long, Bitty smiling at Jack as he hands him over a slice of the same maple apple pie that Bitty had insisted he try the second time he had come into the shop. Bitty feels secretly pleased in the fact that Jack never orders anything else, seemingly content to eat the pie every time he visits.

Bitty may or may not be experimenting with new pastries that involve maple. 

Slowly, his recipes start to come out perfect again. He still thinks about his Jack everyday, still wonders if he’s okay and why they suddenly stopped talking. Bitty hasn't gotten a text from him in two weeks, the radio silence killing him. Though, the NHL star who has become one of his frequent regular customers has helped distract him from the absence of the constant buzzing of his phone. For that, he’s grateful. 

It isn’t until the Thursday before Christmas when Bitty decides he’s going to try and talk to Zimmermann again. 

He’s been debating on it the last few days that Jack has come into the bakery. The man doesn’t really look particularly lonely, but Bitty knows how well someone can hide it. There’s only so many books one can read without wanting to talk to another human. 

Bitty grabs a plate of his new maple glazed cookies and takes a deep breath before starting towards the couch where Zimmermann is sitting. The bakery is relatively quiet in the afternoon, most people at work or home. As he approaches, Bitty can see that the book he’s reading today is about World War II. He looks incredibly relaxed, his shoulders free of tension and his back resting heavily against the couch. He looks comfortable here. 

“So, I’ve got a new recipe,” Bitty starts tentatively, as he slides into a chair at the table that’s in front of the couch. Jack jumps a little, looking up at Bitty. There’s a moment of hesitation before he glances down to see the plate of cookies.

“Maple?” he questions, his voice rough from hours of silence. Bitty blushes, the sound sending his heart racing. 

“Maple glazed,” he confirms, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. The move has the desired effect, and Jack chuckles briefly before grabbing a cookie and taking a small bite. 

The sound that the man makes soon after is enough to have Bitty blushing down his neck. He’s sure that even the top of his chest is red. 

Jack continues chewing briefly before his eyes flutter open, his tongue flicking out to catch the crumbs that rest at the corner of his lips. Bitty sends a quick apology up to the sky, because, _lord_ , his thoughts are not clean at the moment.

“So,” Bitty says, clearing his throat. He tries valiantly not to stare at Jack’s lips. “The verdict?” 

Jack looks like he’s thinking extremely hard about his answer. “My nutritionist will probably kill me, but they’re as good as your pie.” 

Bitty enjoys hearing that much more than he should. 

They chat about pointless subjects for the next half an hour, Bitty noticing that Jack becomes more open the longer they talk. Bitty asks about Jack’s book and tries not to sigh in adoration as Jack starts to ramble on about World War II and why it was the most interesting to him. Bitty tells him about a new red velvet cake he’s working on perfecting when Jack says he’s been talking about himself for far too long. 

It’s easy. It’s relaxing and it shouldn’t be this fun talking to somebody that he’s only talked to twice before. It’s like they’ve been friends for months instead of just acquaintances for about two weeks.

Bitty’s about to launch into gushing about the Falconers recent winning streak when he hears the oven timer going off from the back kitchen. He excuses himself for a few moments and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Once the cake is taken out of the oven and cooling on the counter, Bitty sags back against the wall, running his hands through his hair. 

What is he doing? Why is he talking to the NHL star that continues to come into his shop? The man probably only comes for the pie and relative peaceful atmosphere, not because he wants the shop owner breathing down his neck all the time. 

Bitty is about to shift into full on freak out mode when his phone vibrates. 

He scrambles to pull it out of his pocket, sure it’s only Shitty, probably complaining about his law school colleagues again. 

Only it isn’t. 

It’s _Jack._  

Bitty is only slightly ashamed at the squeak that leaves his mouth, his hands immediately beginning to shake as he desperately fumbles to open the text message.

 **Jack** **  
** _Eric?_  

Bitty is shocked, overwhelmed tears immediately springing to his eyes. It’s only one word. Just his name, and yet, he’s so affected. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving him gasping, trying to hold onto anything he can find so he doesn’t collapse into a surprised heap. 

He begins to type out a response, only to be interrupted by another text message coming in. 

**Jack  
** _I don’t know why we stopped talking  
_ _Was it something I said?  
_ _I miss you. Nothing is right without talking to you  
_ _It feels like before and I hate it._

It’s the most the Jack has ever typed in one sitting. Bitty wonders what has made him so open, so confident.

He wants to tell the other man that he feels the same. He misses him like a limb, and he doesn’t think it’s normal to miss a friend this much, never mind a friend he’s never met in person before. But all that comes to his head is images of him admitting he feels the same, and watching Jack change his mind. Bitty can’t let himself get hurt. 

 **me  
** _Jack…_  

Bitty has no clue what to say. It feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over his head, his heart beating a staccato beat against his chest. 

Bitty could be honest and tell Jack that he doesn’t want to get hurt, doesn’t want to be disappointed. That he’s too tired of falling for someone and playing the same old tired game every time that person doesn’t return his feelings. 

But Jack doesn’t deserve that. Bitty knows that he would feel bad, that he would somehow find a way to place the blame on his own shoulders. That he would blame himself for something as silly as not returning his friend’s feelings. A friend who he hasn’t even met in person. 

Bitty doesn’t want that. 

He’s gearing up to just ignore the text, to shove his phone back into his pocket and go back out and talk to Zimmermann as if he hasn't had a small breakdown in his kitchen a few feet away. 

Only his phone vibrates _again_. 

**Jack  
** _Eric, just  
_ _Listen  
_ _I am so pathetic  
_ _I’ve been going to this shop for two weeks now  
_ _Why?  
_ _Because the owner reminds me of you and I miss you  
_ _Please, just, tell me what I did wrong  
_ _And if you want me to leave you alone just say the word and I’ll never message you again_

This time, there are actual tears running down his cheeks. Jack’s being so incredibly honest, and Bitty has no clue what to do. 

Luckily, the decision is put onto the back burner for the moment when he hears the bell signaling a guest entering the shop. 

He takes a deep breathe and quickly wipes his cheeks, fixing his hair in the reflection of the industrial sized fridge. He just has to deal with this one person and then he can make excuses to hide in the back kitchen as long as he wants. He’s got this. 

The old lady who comes in almost daily greets him when he walks out to the store. Out of the corner of his eye, Bitty can see Jack glancing up from the table, his worried gaze focusing in on Bitty. 

“Eric!”

Bitty smiles back at the woman. “Hello, Mrs. Joseph!” 

“Oh, hello darling. How’s your week going?” she says adoringly, tightening her coat around her body. They idly chit chat for a few moments as he gets her usual scone and coffee order ready to go. Once he rings her up, she pats his arm and smiles as she goes to sit in her usual chair. 

“You really do work too hard, Eric.” 

Bitty laughs and waves her off, counting the change and sorting it. He’s almost finished when he hears a clatter, like the sound of someone scrambling out of their chair and knocking a table around. 

Bitty looks up and sees Jack glance at him once more. He looked _wrecked_ , his eyes wild with confusion and something that looks like devastation. Jack continues to stare at Bitty, frozen in the middle of the shop, his hands clutching at his shirt. 

He seems to be searching for something in Bitty’s face. 

“Jack?” he asks tentatively, scared to say something that will scare the man off. 

That only sets Jack off. He takes a shaky breath of air in and closes his eyes. 

And then he’s gone, stumbling out of the shop with the bell hanging over the door ringing in the silence. 

Bitty has absolutely no clue what just happened. He has half a mind to run after Jack, to demand what in the hell just happened in the middle of his bakery and why he looked so absolutely torn up on the inside. 

Bitty hates seeing that look, hates that he seems to have disappointed yet another person today. He just can’t win. 

So Bitty does the only thing he knows how to do: he goes to the back kitchen and starts collecting ingredients for a cherry pie on autopilot. He rolls the dough out and tries to keep his heart from exploding, from closing himself off from any and every emotion. And he breathes. And breathes, and breathes, and breathes.


	4. Jack

**PART IV: JACK**

**~**

**Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Streets of Providence_ **

Eric.

_Eric._

Jack can feel the panic crawling up his throat, the claws digging in and itching to consume every inch of him. He feels like he’s suffocating with it, the air being sucked out of the bakery the moment that everything clicks in his head.

The bakery is too hot, too small, and too everything for the moment. Jack needs to leave.

The next thing he knows, he’s stumbling down the street from the bakery. It’s shockingly cold outside, the air biting at Jack’s cheeks and making them red. His shaky hands pull his coat around himself as he gulps down gasping breathes of the frigid air, trying to stop the wheezing he can feel himself on the edge of.

He walks for a few more moments, the thoughts swirling around his mind at an alarming rate.

Bitty, the owner of the bakery, the nice shop owner who always seems to brighten Jack’s day and keep his mind off of the situation with Eric. The Eric he’s been texting since the Boston game. The Eric who has been avoiding him for the past few weeks. The Eric who has gone radio silent up until the text messages twenty minutes ago.

Jack can’t believe he didn’t see it before. The way that he instantly felt comfortable around Bitty. How Bitty reminded him so much of Eric with how often he gushed about different recipes, how calming just hearing him talk was.

Or even Shitty dragging him to the bakery to meet one of his college friends from his undergraduate days who owned a bakery. How many of Shitty’s friends could possibly own a bakery?

It was so obvious, the facts glaring Jack right in the face. And he had missed it.

It’s apparent that Bitty still has no clue. And how could he? Jack was such a common name and Jack never gave him anything substantial about who he actually was, too afraid that Eric would view him differently once he found out he was a moderately famous hockey player. That he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with Jack anymore, when he saw how much of a spotlight was constantly on him. 

And that was the reason for Jack pulling back and going radio silent. He valued Eric’s presence in his life too much to risk it, and in the process, had ended up pushing him away anyway.

Jack groans at all the scenarios running through his head. He screwed up, big time. And the worst part about it? He didn’t have Eric to turn to to calm him down, didn’t have him to keep Jack from spiralling down from the panic still present in his gut.

And it’s not like Eric was the only thing that could help worsen a panic attack or his anxiety in general. Jack had long since learned how to deal with it on his own, but it was nice to have someone else who cared so much.

Jack continues walking for about twenty minutes until his hands are still and his breath has stopped coming in wheezy gasps. Once he considers himself calm enough, he starts making his way home, the chill in the air helping to keep his mind relatively clear for the time being.

His apartment is cold and silent when he walks through the door. It feels just like it did when he left it before walking towards the bakery earlier that evening. But at the same time, it doesn’t.

Jack notices how empty it really is. It feels lifeless, too bland and clean, almost like nobody actually lives here. The upscale kitchen is largely untouched, Jack never using it for anything other than simple meals given to him by his nutritionist that he cooks maybe once a wee.

Standing in the middle of his entryway, frozen as if his feet are glued to the floor, he involuntarily imagines Eric in his apartment. Imagines him taking up space in his kitchen, the air filled with the smells of maple and cinnamon. Imagines him in his room. Imagines him lighting up the place, making it seem like there’s actually a living breathing person residing within its walls.

Jack lets the images wash over him for a blissful second before shaking them from his mind. He shouldn't be thinking of Eric in that way. And he’s definitely still not going to put a name to the fluttery feeling that has been rolling around his stomach for the past month when it comes to Eric. He’s afraid of what he’ll find.

Jack does nothing else that night except brush his teeth as he stares back at himself blankly in the mirror. He doesn’t think about how much of a mess he looks. Doesn’t think about how his world completely changed less than an hour ago.

And he definitely doesn’t think of the confusion that had painted Eric’s features as his head hits his stiff pillow that night, his sheets feeling cold and scratchy as he falls asleep soon after.

-

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Falconer’s Practice Facility_ **

Jack can’t shoot for shit and it’s starting to take a toll on him.

He groans in annoyance and frustration as he skates back towards the bench, his teammates that are still on the ice watching him worriedly. The last five shots he’s taken at the goal have all either gone way off target or were blocked by Snowy. 

The Falconers have been on another winning streak lately and have just barely surpassed  Boston to take the top spot in the Atlantic division. Jack knows that playoffs are a ways off, and that anything can happen in the next coming months, but he doesn’t want to give up what they have going right now.

They play Montreal on their home ice in a few days and Jack wants more than anything to win with his parents in the crowd. It’s all that’s been on his mind for the last week. 

Well, that isn't entirely true.

Hockey has been second to Eric, which is something he never thought he’d be saying. He thinks about the younger man as soon as he wakes up and tries not to have him be his last thought before he falls asleep, all to no avail.

Eric never responded to the messages that Jack had sent before he had figured out that Bitty and Eric are the same person. It could be just because he forgot, but Jack definitely doesn’t think that’s the case. Eric had been avoiding him for weeks before then, and all signs are pointing to him continuing to ignore Jack for the time being. 

He considers texting Eric again, even types up messages. But he can never find the courage to press send. He’s sure that Eric won’t want to hear from him again, and probably has other things to worry about. 

It’s all so complicated, and it’s started affecting Jack’s hockey playing. Even his team has begun to notice. 

“Kid, what is going on?” Thirdy asks him as he sits down on the bench. The other guys have started taking shots on the goal and a majority of them are successful. Jack tries to tamp down the jealousy that’s beginning to rear its ugly head. His mother always hated when he would come home from hockey practice, trying to conceal how envious he was of any kid that did slightly better than him that day.

Jack shakes his head, feeling petulant in the face of questioning. He doesn’t want to talk about what’s happening, doesn’t want to admit that what’s affecting his game play is his own fault.

Thirdy sighs, knowing better than to push Jack. “Ok, Jack. But you can talk to us, you know?” Jack just nods in response, skating back out onto the ice as soon as coach signals it’s his turn to run the drill again.

Jack continues for the rest of practice, much the same. He ends up improving towards the end, making every shot the last time he does the drill. It’s far from his best, but he’ll take what he can get when they have such an important game coming up.

When their practice is over, Jack lingers on the ice, taking extra shots at the empty net every few seconds. Most of the guys are used to it now, and don’t try and wait for him until he’s done. 

When he finally reaches the locker room, half the team is already gone, the other half waiting around to leave for their team lunch that some of them like to do every week.

They always invite Jack, and usually, Jack will tag along. It isn’t that he doesn’t love his teammates, quite the opposite. Jack has come to regard his teammates as his brothers, closer with the Falconers than he ever was with any of the Bruins. The team is a close knit group, often hanging out frequently outside of practices and games. Not one player is treated more important than the other, and Jack knows that’s going to be important if he ever wants to win a cup with them. 

Tater questions Jack on if he’s going to tag along before he hops in the shower. Jack declines, stating that he isn't really feeling up to it. It’s a testament to how much the team has probably noticed his off mood today, because Tater only huffs in disappointment and then trails out of the locker room with the rest of the team.

Jack tries to take his time in the shower, wanting to linger until he’s the last possible person out of the practice facility. He doesn’t feel like facing any more people than he physically has to. The exhaustion from the past few days and restless nights lying awake staring at his ceiling as thoughts of Eric float around his head have started to catch up to him.

As soon as the water starts to run cold, Jack hops out of the shower. He’s relieved to find the locker room completely empty.

He dresses slowly, savoring the quiet of the usually raucous locker room. It’s rare to have a moment in here without someone shouting out profanities or towel snapping each other. It’s almost unnerving, like Jack’s subconscious knows that it isn't quite right to have such a quiet locker room, a space usually reserved for game talk and team bonding.

Jack is about finished getting dressed when his phone vibrates. He freezes for a few seconds, as he always does when he can hear a message coming in, the hesitant hope that it’s somehow Eric texting him. It’s probably Shitty though, seeing as he’s one of the only people who has texted him in the past week.

Jack braces himself before glancing down at the screen. He almost drops the phone when he realizes that it is in fact Eric.

**Eric  
** _Jack?_

**me  
** _Yes?_

The next message takes almost ten minutes to come in, Jack sure that Eric had changed his mind about contacting him. It isn’t until he’s in front of his car, the rink’s parking lot all but deserted, when he feels the vibration of his cell phone.

 **Eric  
**_What are we doing?_  

A plethora of different answers pop into Jack’s head immediately. What exactly are they doing? Well, they’ve certainly been ignoring each other. They’ve also been avoiding having a conversation, though Jack still doesn’t really know what that conversation is even supposed to be about. He doesn’t know if that’s his or Eric’s fault.

Jack’s gone over the conversation where everything went wrong time and time again. They had been getting closer, Jack even realizing that Eric was probably one of his closest friends he had at that moment. He had felt happier than he had in years, had even been _playing_ his best. There was no reason for any of it to fall apart.

But then Eric had asked if they were ever going to meet and Jack had panicked. There was no way he could properly meet Eric when the other man still didn’t know that he was Jack Zimmermann and not just Jack, Shitty’s friend. No matter how much Jack wanted to meet Eric, wanted to be able to see what he looked like, hear his voice in person, and just even be in his presence, something about the possibility of meeting him had made him seize up in fear. Maybe Eric wouldn't hate him for essentially lying by omission. Maybe Eric wouldn’t even change his opinion on Jack if he figured out he was a hockey player. 

But Jack had decided in a split second decision that he couldn’t risk it, couldn't risk losing his tentative friendship with Eric. So he had hesitated before answering, and Eric had taken it to mean “no.” 

He wishes he could explain, wishes he could tell Eric everything. But he’s still terrified, and has no clue how Eric would act upon realizing that Jack is actually Jack Zimmermann, the hockey player that he regularly gushed about to Jack himself.

**me  
** _I don’t know, Eric_

**Eric  
** _I’m sorry, you know_

**me  
** _What is there to be sorry for?_

  **Eric  
** _Making things weird  
__With my feelings_

 Jack’s heart screeches to a halt at the words, and he has the grab onto the door handle of his car before he slides to the ground. His world narrows to those words on his screen.

_Feelings?_

“Dammit!” Jack yells, resting his forehead against the passenger side window of his car before exhaling a large sigh.

Eric must think that Jack put distance between them because he's weirded out about the feelings that Eric is heavily implying he has toward Jack. Which, is a whole other thing that Jack hadn’t even thought about and doesn't even want to contemplate at the moment. It’s not that it’s unwelcome, it’s just something that has seemed largely forbidden up until this moment. Something that Jack has pushed to the very depths of his thoughts.

It doesn’t help that Eric has no clue that Jack isn’t straight. 

Jack groans, realizing how screwed up everything has gotten in the span of a few short weeks. 

He contemplates calling Eric, wanting to talk everything out, anything to be able to still hear that Southern accent in his ear and to know that Eric still cares about him. 

But there’s still the problem of Jack hiding his true identity from him. Nothing is really ever going to be solved until Jack can admit the truth to Eric, and Jack is slowly coming to realize that.

Jack glances down at the phone one more time before bracing himself and typing out a final message. He hits send before he can back out of it, and climbs into his car. They leave for Montreal tomorrow morning, and he needs a clear mind to prepare for the game, no matter the shit that’s happening in his personal life. He learned that long ago.

**me  
** _Eric, we really should talk  
_ _I’ll call you in a few days._

-

  **Montreal,** **Québec;** **_The Zimmermann Household_ **

The Falconers play against the Canadiens a few days before Christmas, with Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann in the crowd, both sporting Jack’s jersey. It’s been almost four years of his parents supporting him and showing up at his games, but Jack still isn’t used to seeing them with their shared name across their shoulders, his number emblazoned on their backs. The warm syrupy feeling that pools in his stomach never gets old.

The game is rough, faster than any of the other matches that he’s already played that season. He doesn’t end up scoring, but he does have two assists, and they even win the game 3-2. It serves as a great early Christmas present for all of them.

Christmas at their house is a quiet affair, as it usually is. Jack’s learned over the years that both him and his parents like simple gifts, seeing as they have more than enough money to buy whatever they please. He usually tries to get his parents something meaningful.

On Christmas morning, Jack is the first one awake. He blearily stumbles down the stairs and begins the coffee pot, knowing his parents will be grateful that it’s already been made by the time they make their way down.

Bob and Alicia follow half an hour later, looking sleep rumpled but happy to have their boy back home for a few days. They all settle onto the plush couch in the living room, slowly sipping on their coffee and eating the muffins that his mom had made the night before. The taste reminds him of Eric.

The exchanging of gifts is a humble event, his parents just happy to have another Christmas at home with him. From his dad, he receives a new lense for his camera that he had been eyeing for awhile, but had been too busy to look into. It’s been quite a few months since Jack had the chance to shoot anything, and he finds himself giddy at the idea of finally being able to go out and get some good quality photos.

His mother presents him with a nice selection of new workout clothes, wryly stating that his current work out attire makes him look similar to a robber. He has no clue what she means by that, but he figures she has the most experience when it comes to clothes. He trusts his mother.

Jack hadn’t really known what to get his parents, hadn’t even really had time to shop with the way his games had been scheduled out for the season. Instead, he had ended up paying for a trip to Europe during January, knowing that his mother and father had been wanting to go back for quite some time. His parents tell him it’s too much, but as soon as Jack makes a joke about being the only family member with an active NHL salary, they both laugh and give him tight hugs in thanks.

The rest of the day is quiet, a small dinner for just the three of them later on, and then his dad makes hot chocolate they drink as they watch a few Christmas movies together in the den.

It’s nice, and it makes Jack ache for a family of his own one day. Quiet Christmas days just for them.

After that, the rest of the days leading up to the new year flash by. He spends most of them watching tape in the den, knowing how important the next few months are for the team. If they continue playing the way they have been, they’ll be on track for an easily clinched spot in the playoffs, and his first cup run with the Falconers.

He even gets to play a few pickup games with his father on the frozen lake in their backyard. Bob invites over a few of his old Montreal teammates that still live in the area, and his Uncle Mario stops by. It’s fun, and he can’t remember a time when it was that fun to play with his father.

The thing that Jack spends most of his time doing before he heads back to Providence is think about Eric.

He thinks about the way that talking to Eric makes him feel, all light and buttery warm. Thinks about how attractive he was when he first saw him in the bakery, back before he knew it was Eric. He hadn’t let himself think about it then, but something about being home in the quiet of Montreal doesn’t make him hesitate to confront what he’s been feeling. Maybe it’s the winter air, or maybe it’s just the time he’s been spending with his family.

He remembers the way that Eric’s eyes had lit up, that time they had talked in the bakery. Remembers the flutter in his stomach and the flush that he had felt heating his chest. Jack thinks of the way that Eric’s voice had calmed him, the second time they had talked over the phone. The way that everything had stilled, his mind going clear and his worries flying out of the window as soon as he heard the excited tone of the other man’s voice.

He especially reflects on the way that he had kept returning to the bakery, itchy and eager to see the baker again, to catch a glimpse of his sunkissed hair and his warm and impossibly large eyes. The way he had reminded him of Eric, so much that he would lose his breath sometimes, the air punched out of his chest with an ache of want.

And Jack realizes that he’s an absolutely oblivious idiot.

He has feelings for Eric, has had feelings for Eric before he even saw him in the bakery, before he even knew what he looked like. He wants to go on dates with him, something he hasn’t done in years when Jack actually thinks about it. Wants to hug him and never let him go, and kiss him for hours, just to hear the sounds he’d make.

And he wants to keep him around, maybe forever.

And that? That scares Jack shitless.

He takes his fears and frustration out on the hockey net that they keep on the lake. It’s New Year's Eve, and Jack has a flight home tomorrow morning.

It’s not even mid-morning yet, but he can practically feel the heat radiating off of his body against the bite in the air, his breaths fogging out in front of him.

The pucks are beginning to form a small mountain in the net when Jack hears skates come onto the ice behind him. He continues shooting at the goal, knowing his father will speak when he wants to.

“Need a goalie?”

Jack turns to find his father standing behind him, a small smile gracing his features. Jack nods back and goes to retrieve all the used pucks before they start.

They continue in silence for a while, Jack taking shot after shot at his father.

For someone that has never played as a goalie in his life, Jack’s father stops a reasonable amount of his shots, though not as many as he would have if he was younger.

It isn’t until Jack has to retrieve the used pucks for a second time, and his breaths are coming in pants when Bob asks the question that Jack knows he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to pose.

“So,” Bob says, as he helps Jack collect all the pucks. “What’s bothering you, _mon cœur_?”

Jack used to be embarrassed when his father would use such terms of endearments with him. It wasn’t until after he woke up in the hospital, Bob beginning to use them more frequently, when he realized that it was a way for his dad to show affection towards him.

“Papa,” he sighs out as he feels the flight begin to drain out of him. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bob waits patiently for Jack to continue, and that’s something he’s always loved about his father. Bob knows that sometimes, his anxiety causes him to have trouble explaining what’s going on in his head, and never makes him rush.

“It’s, just,” Jack huffs out, frustration coloring his tone. The words just don’t want to come forward. “I’m not used to feeling this way.”

Like he’s always been good at, Bob seems to instinctively know what Jack is saying without actually putting it to words.

“Ah,” he replies in a knowing tone. It’s silent for a few seconds until he skates forward, placing a firm hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Feeling like what?” he asks quietly, even though he already knows what Jack’s going to say.

“Unsure of what he’ll think of me.”

That’s one thing that Jack had been consistently sure of in his life. He knew that his parents loved him, believed that he was the best thing that they ever accomplished. Knows that in the juniors, he was thought of as a hero, a rising star. Knows that after his overdose, the sports analysts never looked at him the same, always viewing him through the same lense. Knows that the Falconers value him, but not just for his name or his game playing.

But he doesn’t know what Eric will think of him once he knows who he is. And that’s a scary thought.

Bob pointedly ignores the usage of the word “he” and plows on. “Jack, that’s okay.”

“I’m scared.”

It’s silent for another few moments. Jack can see his father thinking hard about his answer, wanting his words to mean something.

This time, he switches to French. Jack knows that he always thought speaking in French put more meaning and power behind his words.

“You know what your uncle always says. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” he says, smiling at Jack.

It takes a minute for the words to process.

Then they hit Jack head on, like a freight train.

“Oh,” he breathes out.

Bob’s smile grows larger. “Go on. You were leaving tomorrow anyway.”

Eric isn’t afraid to be who he is. Eric is kind, and sweet, and impossibly stubborn, but that doesn’t make Jack like him any less. Eric handles his anxiety unbelievably well, doesn't treat him any different because of it. 

So, why would someone as amazing as Eric, someone who sees his flaws and accepts him for them, see him any differently just because he knew he played hockey?

“Thank you, Papa!” Jack shouts as he picks up his stick and quickly skates off the ice, his heart hammering in his chest all the way. Jack can hear his father chuckle in the distance.

 Jack had promised to call Eric, which he still hadn’t done. But something tells Jack that Eric isn’t going to mind, come later that night.

 Jack’s going home.

-

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_“Bitty’s”_ **

Jack spends the entirety of the short flight sitting on the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing up and down, anticipation filling his gut and making him breathless.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to go to Bitty’s bakery and tell him everything. Tell him who he actually is, how he actually feels, and that he hopes Eric feels the same. 

It’s enough to make Jack feel nauseous.

Once the plane touches down at TF Green, his heart has taken off on a marathon again, Jack afraid that it will never settle down. He had ran over a speech in his head, thinking of all the words he wants to say to Eric, _needs_ Eric to know, but when he walks out into the airport, the words have all flown from his head.

The airport is surprisingly busy for it being New Year’s Eve, but Jack just assumes that these people want to get home, don’t care where they spend the first few seconds of the new year.

Jack’s hoping that he gets to ring in the new year with Eric, something new and wonderful starting between them. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up, still so afraid about what the other man is going to think of him.

He takes a cab to the bakery, small snow flurries just beginning to fall in the sky. It’s about half an hour before midnight, and Jack can't help but laugh at himself for how cliche he’s being. Anything to take his mind off of the anticipation curling around his organs.

When he finally reaches the bakery, it’s fifteen minutes to midnight. He practically throws money at the driver, scrambling out of the car and onto the sidewalk. For a hockey player that can be called graceful on the ice, he is certainly far from graceful tonight.  

He can see all the lights in the front of the shop are turned off, the chairs stacked on top of the table. His heart sinks, thinking that he was too late, he’s missed Eric, and it’s just not going to be the same if he comes into the shop another day. Not when he doesn’t have all this courage and adrenaline running through his veins. 

But then he focuses in on the shop, finds that one lone light is turned on in the back kitchen. He knows Eric stays late sometimes, fiddling around with new recipes. It had been one of the first things the other man had told Jack about himself. 

Jack breathes out a sigh of relief while his heart simultaneously starts thundering a staccato beat in his chest. 

He knocks on the locked front doors for a moment and then changes tactics. “Eric!” 

It takes a few breathless moments of waiting, barely registering the snow beginning to pick up. 

And then Jack can see him walking into the front room, confusion and a little fear written all over his face. Jack’s world narrows to the other man. It’s like nothing else exists in that moment but the other person standing a few feet away. 

Eric looks absolutely shell shocked to see Jack standing there. They’re both frozen for a few weightless seconds, staring at each other through the glass doors separating them. Jack thinks it’s too far, too much space. 

But then Eric snaps out of it, rushes towards the door, fumbling to unlock them and yank them open.

“Jack!” Eric says, his voice practically a squeak. “Lord, come in, come in! It’s snowing out there.”

Jack walks into the shop, glad when the door shuts behind him, cutting off the breeze that had begun to pick up with the snow. Jack stands in the middle of the shop as Eric bustles around, looking like he wants to make Jack a drink or even feed him. 

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Eric asks. There’s disbelief in his tone. He even crosses his arms over his chest, a defensive measure. 

Jack takes a breath. Here goes. This is probably the most nerve wracking thing he’s done in his life, comparable to even his first NHL hockey game. 

“Hi,” he says, tone firm.”I’m Jack Zimmermann and I play professional hockey in the NHL.” 

Now Eric just looks incredulous, like Jack is crazy. Jack plows on. 

“I have an anxiety disorder, something that has affected me my whole life. I’m friends with Shitty Knight. We met back in college, when I still played on the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team,” Jack says in a firm tone. Eric’s face drops, his gasp audible in the silence of the bakery.

“What-” 

“I have panic attacks. Shitty helps with them sometimes, but then I started talking to somebody new. Somebody who makes the anxiety go away for a while.”

Jack can see Eric’s mind whirring, putting together all the puzzle pieces that Jack is giving him. “I don’t… what?”

“He’s great… he’s wonderful. He takes me out of my head, makes the shaking in my hands stop.” He takes a breath. “He owns a bakery, and is constantly rambling on about the new recipes he’s trying. He used to be a figure skater, but switched to hockey in college. Now he’s back into hockey, loves the Falconers.” 

Jack can see the tears in Eric’s eyes, knows he’s figured out what he’s saying without even actually saying it. 

“He makes me want to work harder than I’ve ever done before. Makes me want to be better, but without trying to kill myself doing it,” Jack says. He’s surprised at the confidence in his voice, the way his hands are still. 

“And I was supposed to call him. I promised to call him a few days ago and talk about stuff, but got on a plane instead. And.... here I am,” Jack says as he raises his hands in a flourish. “Here I am.” 

The bakery is deathly silent. Jack can see the tears rolling freely down Eric’s face now. He isn’t completely sure if they’re good tears anymore, the terror striking him in that moment that he messed up, oh shit, he screwed up so bad- 

“Jack,” Eric says in a trembling voice. He takes a step forward. 

“It’s me, Eric. Bitty.” He looks at the clock. Five minutes to midnight. “It’s me.” 

Eric looks overwhelmed, so completely shocked. Jack would feel bad, but he doesn’t have any more room to feel bad about something that he should have done days ago, even weeks. 

“But… I asked to meet? And you seemed so…” he trails off. It seems like the only thing he can think to say in the moment. Jack can see him wringing his hands.

“I was scared,” he admits. “You didn’t know who I really was. I thought you’d never look at me the same. 

Eric’s face goes from incredulous to petulant. Jack thinks it’s adorable. “You know damn well I wouldn’t have thought of you any differently, Jack Zimmermann!” 

Jack can’t help but laugh. “I know that now.” The distance between them has vastly minimized. Eric can probably hear his heart racing. 

“Eric,” he says, breathes his name into the silence. 

Eric looks up at him. His brown eyes are larger than ever, the tears making them seem red rimmed and glistening. Jack thinks he’s beautiful, never wants to take his eyes off of him. 

“This is crazy,” Eric breathes as they drift ever closer. “We’ve only been talking for two months! We just met… you’re straight!” 

Jack chuckles. “Bisexual,” he whispers, and delights in the shock that crosses Eric’s face. 

There’s another few beats of silence before Jack is close enough to feel Eric’s breaths puffing against his face, can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“Bitty.” 

Everything is still for a split second. Then Jack slides a hand against Eric’s cheek, going slowly so Eric knows he can move back if he wants to. 

And then Jack’s lips are on Eric’s and, _god_ , it’s better than any goal Jack has made.  

Eric is completely still for a few endless seconds. Jack gets ready to pull back, terrified that he read the whole situation wrong, that coming to the bakery was the wrong choice, that he isn’t welcome, that he can never show his face again- 

But then Eric gasps into Jack’s mouth, his lips parting against Jack’s. He grabs onto Jack’s arms and pulls him forward, deeper into the kiss. Jack whines into his mouth, presses against his body more firmly. 

They kiss for a few more moments until Jack can feel his phone vibrating. He pulls back slowly, mesmerized at the way that Eric’s eyes are still closed, his hands gripping Jack’s elbows. 

“Was that okay?” 

Eric makes a small sound, his eyes still closed. “I don’t know. You may have to try again.” 

Jack laughs, pulling him in again. He can deal with that. 

They still have a ton to talk about, probably will have to have multiple serious talks before they become anything significant. But Jack knows there is going to be something. And he’s okay with waiting. 

Jack continues kissing Eric, the snow falling softly outside, knowing that it’s most likely past midnight now. 

He’s happy.

-

Jack sends his first text message to Eric since he promised to call him days ago from the warmth of his apartment later that same night.

**me  
** _Happy New Year, Eric_

**Eric  
** _Happy New Year to you too, Jack_

  **me  
**_It’s gonna be a good one, eh?_

  **Eric  
**_The best :)_  

-

 **3 Months Later**  

- 

 **Providence, Rhode Island;** **_Dunkin Donuts Center_ **

Eric tries to hold back his giggle of nervous and excited energy as they take their seats up against the glass. 

Everything that has happened in the last three months has led to this moment. Jack playing in the game that will decide if the Falconers clinch a spot in the playoffs. Shitty and Lardo, still having no clue what has gone on between the two of them. 

Jack and Bitty had finally decided to tell the other two tonight. It wasn’t that they wanted to hide it for as long as they had, but they wanted some time to themselves, some time to learn how to be around one another. 

There had been a lot of long talks after the night in the bakery. To say that Bitty was shocked about the ordeal was a severe understatement. 

He had never suspected that Jack and Zimmermann could be the same person. Though, after hearing everything that Jack had to say in his speech, he realizes he could have easily figured it out if Jack had given him anything to work with. 

He wasn’t bitter about it. Sure, he had been shocked for a few days, but he had already sort of knew Jack Zimmermann as the kind and sweet man that had visited his bakery almost every day. It wasn’t a hard feat to associate him with the Jack he had been texting for months. 

During one of their talks, Bitty had also been worried that Jack viewed Eric as a cure, someone who could completely rid him of his anxiety. He didn’t want Jack to put him on a pedestal, and then one day realize that he wasn’t good enough for him. 

Jack had shut his thoughts down as soon as he had voiced them, fiercely stating that he knew he was going to live with it for the rest of his life, that he liked Eric for much more than just his abilities to calm Jack down. He had then proceeded to list everything he adored about him. That night had ended with a lot of kisses. He was still in the stage of being amazed that somebody could feel so strongly about him. It would be a while until Bitty would get used to it. 

Once they had talked more thoroughly about everything that had happened, and why Jack had distanced himself, explaining about his fears, Eric had shyly agreed to a date with the other man. Needless to say, Jack had charmed him thoroughly enough for Eric to accept a second date, a third date, and so on. 

It was coming up on the third month since they had gotten together, Eric finally feeling comfortable enough with their relationship to tell Shitty and Lardo. He knew that they would be shocked and understandably confused as to why they hadn’t known about it earlier. But overall, they would be happy for them. At least, Eric hoped so. 

“Bits! Jack wants us to come to the locker room afterwards. Thank us for coming,” Shitty says while tapping at his phone. “He’ll probably be disappointed you didn’t bring any baked goods with you,” Shitty states with a smirk. 

Bitty tamps down the urge to laugh. Shitty still thinks the only times that him and Jack have interacted was at the bakery. He doesn’t yet know that Eric has cooked countless times, just for the two of them. 

“You think he’ll like my jersey?” Bitty says, flushing as he looks down at Jack’s name stretched across his shoulders. Eric has fond memories of the night that Jack had presented him with the jersey, nervously asking if he’d officially be his boyfriend.

“You do look good in it,” Lardo chimes in. She’s smirking too, her and Shitty shooting each other conspiring looks. 

Eric resists the urge to roll his eyes. Those two think they’re so smooth. 

“So, Bitty,” Shitty starts as he throws an arm around his shoulder. He can feel Lardo lean in closer on his other side. “You know, Jack is still single.” He pauses. “It’s been awhile since you’ve let me try to set you up with anyone.” 

Eric wants to burst into laughter, but he needs to act scandalized. They can’t know until the end of the game. 

“Shitty Knight, you can’t go and try setting me up with an NHL star!” 

Shitty splutters. “Excuse me, this is for Jack’s benefit! You’re so obviously perfect for him!” 

“You two _would_ be surprisingly good for each other,” Lardo adds on. 

Bitty huffs in fake annoyance. “That doesn’t matter! Give it a rest, okay?” 

Shitty sighs. “Okay, Bits.”

The game starts soon after that, Bitty’s excitement and anticipation building during the ceremonial puck drop and announcing of the players as they skate onto the ice. Jack skates by once, aiming a wave towards them.

God, but Bitty loves that boy. 

Jack still doesn’t know that Bitty’s feelings are so serious, though Bitty has suspected that he’s been half in love with him since before he even knew who Jack properly was 

They have time, and that makes Bitty not want to rush it. He wants to say it at the right time. 

They’re playing the Penguins that night. It’s going to be a tense game, Pittsburgh already clinching their playoff spot the previous week. Being the two time reigning Stanley Cup champions also makes everything a little more tense. 

Bitty had stayed up with Jack the night before on the phone, talking through plays and some of Pittsburgh’s weaknesses. Bitty has found that Jack still likes to text and call even though they see each other practically every other day. Bitty loves it. 

The first period is brutal. Bitty can tell that the checks are coming harder and faster than usual. Shitty isn’t happy about it either, more often than not standing up and banging on the glass. The ref has been glared at by the three of them more than enough times that period. 

The game stays scoreless until late in the second period when Jack finally, finally sends one in top shelf. 

The entire arena explodes, Bitty, Lardo, and Shitty jumping around and screaming with everyone else. 

The happiness is short lived once Crosby ties up the score right before the horn sounds to end the second period. 

Eric spends the entire time between periods on the edge of his seat, imagining how tense Jack must be, wishing he could talk to him if only for a moment. 

Shitty and Lardo try to distract him by telling him stories of when Jack went to school with them. Bitty appreciates the effort. 

Third period seems to last forever, both teams struggling to keep the puck away from their zone. Snowy continues to make amazing saves, but so does the Penguins’ goalie. 

It’s down to the last minute when the Falconers decide to pull Snowy. Bitty thinks it’s a crazy idea, is screaming his head off about it until Tater rips down the ice, catching a pass from Jack and shooting it between the legs of the Penguins goalie. 

The noise in the arena is so loud that Eric is afraid his ear drums are going to pop. He also may or may not be crying happy tears. He wants nothing more than to run onto the ice and hug the life out of Jack. And kiss him a little. 

After that, the few seconds left on the clock go by in a blur, and then the Falconers are pouring onto the ice. They’ve made it into the playoffs. Jack’s going on his first cup run. 

Eric’s unbelievably proud of him, of everything he’s accomplished that season, of everything he’s overcome. 

Once they reach the locker room, they only have to wait a handful of minutes before Jack comes out fully dressed in his pads, the most blinding grin stretched across his face. The only thing missing is his skates. 

He hugs Lardo and Shittty first, enduring a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Shitty. Then he turns to Eric and his grin seems to grow impossibly larger. 

Eric can’t help but smile back. “Hi, honey.” 

Jack steps forward and wraps his arms around Eric, lifting him completely off the ground. Eric squeaks in surprise but quickly buries his head in Jack’s sweaty neck. He can’t believe how happy he is in that moment. 

“We won,” Jack whispers as he pulls back. Eric brushes a hand across his cheek. This boy. 

“You did.” 

Surprisingly, Jack pulls him in for a kiss, not seeming to give a damn that Shitty and Lardo are standing right there. 

Eric gets lost in the feel of their lips moving together, licking into Jack’s mouth for a few seconds, reveling in the soft hum he can hear coming from the other man. They’ve gotten good at this, learned what the other likes. Eric could kiss him for years. 

“What the fuck?!” 

They break apart giggling at the yell. Shitty is standing a few feet away, a shocked look on his face. Lardo stands next to him looking impressed. 

“Surprise?” Jack says. Eric giggles again. 

“Surprise, you motherfucker?” Shitty turns to Eric, a look of realization dawning on his face. “You acted like me wanting to set you two up was ridiculous!” 

Bitty shrugs, his arms tightening around Jack’s neck. He can feel Jack nuzzling the skin there. “Oops?” 

Lardo bursts out laughing. “Deets. Now.” 

Eric smirks as he looks back up at Jack. “Well, it’s actually Shitty’s fault.” 

The hall fills with laughter as Shitty squawks again. 

Eventually, Eric and Jack thoroughly explain how they ended up where they are now. Eventually, Shitty bursts into tears, stating how happy he is for his two best friends. Eventually, Eric goes home with Jack for the night, happier than he’s been in a while.  
  
For now, Bitty takes a breath and says one thing. “It started with a phone call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes!
> 
> yes i had the pens win the cup again in 2017. fight me  
> i know logically bitty could have seen that jack went to samwell when he looked him up but he only mostly payed attention to his hockey career okay  
> jack is a common name and i'm sticking with it  
> also: i know eric knows that jack zimmermann was out, since it was public, but again, he had just found out they were the same person and still thought his jack was straight. babe was confused.t  
> i wanted to include ransom & holster & chowder but found there would be no way to do that without them revealing they know jack from school and chowder lives in cali :( sorry bros :(  
> the falconers go on to win the cup and everyone is happy!
> 
> this story is brought to you by: finals stress, many cups of coffee, disney soundtracks, omgcp updates, penguins hockey games, christmas shopping, disappointing dallas stars games, and one trip to seattle.
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are much appreciated :) you can follow me over on tumblr at livhtwoods!


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